JFamoug  (KHomeiu 


MARGARET    FULLER. 


The  next  volumes  in  the  Famous   Women  Series 
will  be: 

MARIA  EDGEWORTH.     By  Miss  Zimmern. 
SARAH  AND  ANGELINA  GRIMKE.     By  Mrs. 
Birney. 

ANNE  BRADSTREET.     By  Helen  Campbell. 
Already  published : 

GEORGE  ELIOT.     By  Miss  Blind. 
EMILY  BRONTE.     By  Miss  Robinson. 
GEORGE  SAND.     By  Miss  Thomas. 
MARY  LAMB.     By  Mrs.  Gilchrist. 
MARGARET  FULLER.     By  Julia  Ward  Howe. 


MARGARET    FULLER 


(MARCHESA     OSSOLf). 


BY 


JULIA    WARD     HOWE. 


BOSTON: 

ROBERTS     BROTHERS. 
1883. 


Copyright,  1883, 
BY  ROBERTS  BROTHERS. 


UNIVERSITY  PRESS: 
JOHN  WILSON  AND  SON,  CAMBRIDGE. 


PREFATORY   NOTE. 


THE  present  volume  bears  the  name 
of  MARGARET  FULLER  simply,  because  it 
is  by  this  name  that  its  subject  is  most 
widely  known  and  best  remembered. 
Another  name,  indeed,  became  hers  by 
marriage ;  but  this  later  style  and  title 
were  borne  by  our  friend  for  a  short 
period  only,  and  in  a  country  remote 
from  her  own.  It  was  as  Margaret  Fuller 
that  she  took  her  place  among  the  lead 
ing  spirits  of  her  time,  and  made  her 
brave  crusade  against  its  unworthier  fea 
tures.  The  record  of  her  brief  days  of 
wifehood  and  of  motherhood  is  tenderly 
cherished  by  her  friends,  but  the  story  of 
her  life-work  is  best  inscribed  with  the 


vi  PREFATORY  NOTE. 

name  which  was  hers  by  birth  and  bap 
tism,  the  name  which,  in  her  keeping, 
acquired  a  significance  not  to  be  lost 
nor  altered. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

Childhood  and  Early  Youth.  —  School-days 


CHAPTER  II. 

Life  in  Cambridge.  —  Friendship  of  Dr.  Hedge  and  James  Free 
man  Clarke 19 

CHAPTER  III. 

Religious  Beliefs.  —  Margaret's  Early  Critics.  —  First  Acquain- 

tance  with  Mr.  Emerson 32 

CHAPTER  IV. 

Art  Studies.  —  Removal  to  Groton.  —  Meeting  with  Harriet  Mar- 

tineau.  —  Death  of  Mr.  Fuller.  — Devotion  to  her  Family    .      44 

CHAPTER  V. 

Winter  in  Boston.  —  A  Season  of  Severe  Labor.  —  Connection 
with  Green-Street  School,  Providence,  R.  I.  —  Editorship  of 
the  "  Dial."  —  Margaret's  estimate  of  Allston's  pictures  .  .  61 

CHAPTER  Vf. 

William  Henry  Channing's  portrait  of  Margaret.  —  Transcenden 
tal  Days.  —  Brook  Farm.  —  Margaret's  visits  there  ...  84 


viii  CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

Margaret's  love  of  children.  —  Visit  to  Concord  after  the  death  of 
Waldo  Emerson.  —  Conversations  in  Boston.  —  Summer  on 
the  Lakes 100 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

Farewell  to  Boston.  —  Engagement  to  write  for  the  "  New  York 
Tribune."  —  Margaret  in  her  new  surroundings.  —  Mr.  Gree- 
ley's  opinion  of  Margaret's  work.  —  Her  estimate  of  George 
Sand 128 

CHAPTER  IX. 

Margaret's  residence  at  the  Greeley  mansion.  —  Appearance  in 
New  York  society.  —  Visits  to  women  imprisoned  at  Sing 
Sing  and  on  Blackwell's  Island.  —  Letters  to  her  brothers.  — 
"  Woman  in  the  Nineteenth  Century."  —  Essay  on  American 
Literature.  —  View  of  contemporary  Authors 140 

CHAPTER  X. 

Ocean  voyage.  —  Arrival  at  Liverpool.  —  The  Lake  Country.  — 
Wordsworth.  —  Miss  Martineau.  —  Edinburgh.  —  De  Quin- 
cey. —  Mary,  Queen  of  Scots.  —  Night  on  Ben  Lomond.  — 
James  Martineau.  —  William  J.  Fox.  —  London.  —  Joanna 
Baillie.  —  Mazzini.  —  Thomas  Carlyle.  —  Margaret's  impres 
sions  of  him. —  His  estimate  of  her 17° 

CHAPTER  XI. 

Paris.  —  Margaret's  reception  there.  —  George  Sand.  —  Chopin.  — 
Rachel.  —  Lamennais.  —  Beranger.  —  Chamber  of  Deputies. 
—  Berryer.  —  Ball  at  the  Tuileries.  —  Italian  Opera.  —  Alex- 
andre  Vattenure.  —  Schools  and  Reformatories. — Journey 
to  Marseilles.  —  Genoa.  —  Leghorn.  —  Naples.  —  Rome  .  .  189 

CHAPTER  XII. 

Margaret's  first  days  in  Rome.  —  Antiquities.  —  Visits  to  Studios 
and  Galleries.  —  Her  opinions  concerning  the  Old  Masters. — 


CONTENTS.  ix 

PAGE 

Her  sympathy  with  the  People.  —  Pope  Pius.  —  Celebration 
of  the  Birthday  of  Rome.  —  Perugia.  —  Bologna.  —  Raven 
na.  —  Venice.  —  A  State  Ball  on  the  Grand  Canal.  —  Milan.  — 
Manzoni.  — The  Italian  Lakes.  —  Parma.  —  Second  visit  to 
Florence.  —  Grand  Festival 205 

CHAPTER  XIII. 

Period  of  agitation  in  Rome.  —  Margaret's  zeal  for  Italian  Free 
dom.  —  Her  return  to  Rome.  —  Review  of  the  Civic  Guard.  — 
Church  Fasts  and  Feasts.  —  Pope  Pius.  —  The  Rainy  Sea 
son.  —  Promise  of  Representative  Government  in  Rome.  — 
Celebration  of  this  event.  —  Mazzini's  Letter  to  the  Pope.  — 
Beauty  of  the  Spring.  —  Italy  in  Revolution.  —  Popular  ex 
citements  in  Rome.  —  Pope  Pius  deserts  the  Cause  of  Free 
dom.  —  Margaret  leaves  Rome  for  Aquila 219 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

Margaret's  marriage.  —  Character  of  the  Marchese  Ossoli.  —  Mar 
garet's  first  meeting  with  him.  —  Reasons  for  not  divulging 
the  marriage.  —  Aquila.  —  Rieti.  —  Birth  of  Angelo  Eugene 
Ossoli.  —  Margaret's  return  to  Rome.  —  Her  anxiety  about 
her  child.  —  Flight  of  Pope  Pius.  —  The  Constitutional  As 
sembly.  —  The  Roman  Republic.  —  Attitude  of  France.  — 
The  Siege  of  Rome.  —  Mazzini.  —  Princess  Belgiojoso.  — 
Margaret's  care  of  the  Hospitals 232 

CHAPTER  XV. 

Siege  of  Rome.  —  Margaret's  care  of  the  sick  and  wounded.  — 
Anxiety  about  her  husband  and  child.  —  Battle  between  the 
French  and  Italian  troops.  —  The  Surrender. — Garibaldi's 
departure.  —  Margaret  joins  her  husband  at  his  post. — An- 
gelo's  illness.  —  Letters  from  friends  in  America.  —  Perugia. 
Winter  in  Florence.  —  Margaret's  domestic  life.  —  Aspect  of 
her  future.  —  Her  courage  and  industry.  —  Ossoli's  affection 
for  her.  —  William  Henry  Hurlbut's  reminiscences  of  them 
both.  —  Last  days  in  Florence.  —  Farewell  visit  to  the  Duo- 
mo. —  Margaret's  evenings  at  home. —  Horace  Sumner. — 
Margaret  as  a  friend  of  the  people 245 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

Margaret  turns  her  face  homeward.  —  Last  letter  to  her  mother.  — 
The  barque  "  Elizabeth."  —  Presages  and  omens.  —  Death  of 
the  captain.  —  Angelo's  illness.  —  The  wreck.  —  The  long 
struggle.  —  The  end 265 

CHAPTER  XVII. 
Margaret  Fuller's  Literary  Remains 280 

INDEX 293 


MARGARET   FULLER. 


CHAPTER  I. 

CHILDHOOD    AND    EARLY    YOUTH.  —  SCHOOL  DAYS. 

THE  subject  of  the  following  sketch,  Sarah 
Margaret  Fuller,  has  already  been  most  for 
tunate  in  her  biographers.  Cut  off  herself  in  the 
prime  of  life,  she  left  behind  her  devoted  friends 
who  were  still  in  their,  full  vigor  of  thought  and 
sentiment.  Three  of  these,  James  Freeman 
Clarke,  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson,  and  William 
Henry  Channing,  set  their  hand,  some  thirty  or 
more  years  ago,  to  the  happy  task  of  preserving 
for  posterity  their  strong  personal  impressions 
of  her  character  and  influence.  With  these  pre 
cious  reminiscences  were  interwoven  such  ex 
tracts  from  her  correspondence  and  diary  as 
were  deemed  fittest  to  supply  the  outline  of  her 
own  life  and  experience. 

What,  it  may  be  asked,  can  such  biographers 
have  left  for  others  to  do  ?  To  surpass  their 
work  is  not  to  be  thought  of.  But,  in  the  turn- 


2,  tc  tcc  MARGARET  FULLER. 


ing  and  perseverance  of  this  planet,  present  soon 
becomes  past,  and  that  which  has  been  best 
said  asks  to  be  said  again.  This  biography, 
so  rich  in  its  suggestions  and  so  valuable  in  its 
details,  is  already  set  in  a  past  light  by  the  pro 
gress  of  men  and  of  things.  Its  theme  has  lost 
none  of  its  interest.  Nay,  it  is  through  the 
growing  interest  felt,  in  Margaret  and  her  work 
that  a  demand  seems  to  have  arisen  for  a  later 
word  about  her,  which  cannot  hope  to  be  better 
or  wiser  than  the  words  already  made  public, 
but  which  may  borrow  from  them  the  inspiration 
for  a  new  study  and  presentment. 

According  to  the  authorities  already  estab 
lished,  Sarah  Margaret  Fuller,  the  child  of  Tim 
othy  Fuller  and  Margaret  Crane,  was  born  at 
Cambridgeport,  near  Boston,  on  the  23d  of  May, 
1810.  She  has  herself  given  some  account  of 
her  early  life  in  an  autobiographical  sketch 
'which  forms  the  prelude  to  the  work  already 
published.  Her  father,  she  says,  "was  a  law 
yer  and  a  politician,"  the  son  of  a  country 
clergyman,  Harvard-bred  both  as  to  his  college 
and  his  professional  studies.  She  remembers 
him  chiefly  as  absorbed  in  the  business  and  in 
terest  of  his  profession,  intent  upon  compassing 
:the  support  of  his  family,  and  achieving  such 
distinction  as  might  prove  compatible  with  that 
object.  Her  mother  she  describes  as  "one  of 


CHILDHOOD  AND  EARLY  YOUTH.  3 

those  fair,  flower-like  natures,  which  sometimes 
spring  up  even  beside  the  most  dusty  high 
ways  of  life,  —  bound  by  one  law  with  the  blue 
sky,  the  dew,  and  the  frolic  birds."  And  in  the 
arduous  labor  of  her  father's  life,  his  love  for  this 
sweet  mother  "  was  the  green  spot  on  which  he 
stood  apart  from  the  commonplaces  of  a  mere 
bread-winning,  bread-bestowing  existence." 

The  case  between  Margaret  and  her  father  is 
the  first  to  be  disposed  of  in  our  consideration  of 
her  life  and  character.  In  the  document  just 
quoted  from  she  does  not  paint  him  en  beau. 
Here  and  elsewhere  she  seems  to  have  been' 
inclined  to  charge  upon  him  the  excessive  study, 
which  exaggerated  her  natural  precocity  of  tem-j 
perament,  and  the  Puritan  austerity  which 
brought  her  ungratified  imagination  into  early 
conflict  with  the  circumstances  and  surround-i 
ings  of  her  start  in  life.  In  a  brief  preface  to  the 
memoir  already  published,  a  surviving  brother  of' 
Margaret  characterizes  this  view  of  the  father  as 
inadequate  and  unjust. 

Margaret  herself  called  her  sketch  an  auto 
biographical  romance,  and  evidently  wrote  it  at 
a  period  of  her  life  in  which  her  personal  expe 
rience  had  thrown  little  light  upon  the  difficul 
ties  which  parents  encounter  in  the  training  of 
their  children,  and  especially  in  that  of  their 
eldest-born. 


4  MARGARET  FULLER. 

From  the  sketch  itself  we  gather  that  the 
Fuller  household,  although  not  corresponding  to 
the  dreams  of  its  wonder-child,  had  yet  in  it 
elements  which  were  most  precious  for  her  right 
growth  and  development.  The.  family  itself  was 
descended  from  a  stock  deeply  thoughtful  and 
religious.  With  the  impulses  of  such  kindred 
came  to  Margaret  the  strict  and  thrifty  order  of 
primitive  New  England  life,  the  absence  of  frivol 
ity,  the  distaste  for  all  that  is  paltry  and  super 
ficial.  In  after  years,  her  riper  judgment  must 
have  shown  her,  as  it  has  shown  many,  the  value 
of  these  somewhat  stern  surroundings.  The 
little  Puritan  children  grew  up,  it  is  true,  in  the 
presence  of  a  standard  of  character  and  of  con 
duct  which  must  have  seemed  severe  to  them. 
The  results  of  such  training  have  shown  the 
world  that  the  child  so  circumstanced  will  rise 
to  the  height  of  his  teaching.  Started  on  a 
solid  and  worthy  plane  of  thought  and  of  motive, 
he  will  not  condescend  to  what  is  utterly  mean, 
base,  and  trivial,  either  in  motive  or  in  act.  If, 
as  may  happen,  he  fail  in  his  first  encounters 
with  outside  temptation,  he  will  nevertheless 
severely  judge  his  own  follies,  and  will  one 
day  set  himself  to  retrieve  them  with  earnest 
diligence. 

In  the  instance  before  us  we  can  feel  how  bit 
ter  may  have  been  the  contrast  between  the 


CHILDHOOD  AND  EARLY   YOUTH.  5 

child's  natural  tastes  and  the  realities  which 
surrounded  her.  Routine  and  restraint  were 
burdensome  to  her  when  as  yet  she  could  not 
know  their  value.  Not  the  less  were  they  of 
great  importance  to  her.  The  surroundings, 
too,  which  were  devoid  of  artistic  luxury  and 
adornment,  forced  her  to  have  recourse  to  the 
inner  sense  of  beauty,  which  is  sometimes  lost 
and  overlaid  through  much  pleasing  of  the  eye 
and  ear. 

Childhood,  indeed,  insists  upon  having  the 
whole  heavenly  life  unpacked  upon  the  spot. 
Its  to-day  knows  no  to-morrow.  Hence  its 
common  impatience  and  almost  inevitable  quar 
rel  with  the  older  generation,  which  in  its  eyes 
represents  privation  and  correction. 

The  early  plan  of  studies  marked  out  for 
Margaret  by  her  father  was  not  devised  by  any 
commonplace  mind.  Mr.  Fuller  had  gained 
from  his  own  college  life  that  love  of  culture 
which  is  valuable  beyond  any  special  attainment. 
His  own  scholarship  had  been  more  than  com 
mon,  and  it  became  his  darling  object  to  trans 
mit  to  his  little  daughter  all  that  he  himself  had 
gained  by  study,  and  as  much  more  as  his  cir 
cumstances  would  permit.  He  did  indeed  make 
the  mistake,  common  in  that  day,  of  urging  the 
tender  intellect  beyond  the  efforts  proper  to  its 
stage  of  growth.  Margaret  says  that  the  lessons 


6  MARGARET  FULLER. 

set  for  her  were  "  as  many  and  various  as  the 
hours  would  allow,  and  on  subjects  far  beyond 
my  age."  These  lessons  were  recited  to  her 
father  after  office  hours  ;  and  as  these  hours 
were  often  prolonged,  the  child's  mind  was  kept 
in  a  state  of  tension  until  long  after  the  time 
when  the  little  head  should  have  rested  serenely 
on  its  pillow.  In  consequence  of  this,  it  often 
rested  very  ill,  and  the  youthful  prodigy  of  the 
daytime  was  terrified  at  night  by  dreams  and 
illusions,  and  disturbed  by  sleep-walking.  From 
these  efforts  and  excitements  resulted,  as  she 
says,  "a  state  of  being  too  active  and  too  intense, 
which  wasted  my  constitution,  and  will  bring 
me,  although  I  have  learned  to  understand  and 
to  regulate  my  now  morbid  temperament,  to  a 
premature  grave." 

This  was  unhappy,  certainly.  The  keen,  ac 
tive  temperament  did  indeed  acquire  a  morbid 
intensity,  and  the  young  creature  thus  spurred 
on  to  untimely  effort  began  to  live  and  to  learn 
at  a  pace  with  which  the  slowness  of  circum 
stance  was  never  able  to  keep  abreast. 

Even  with  the  allowance  which  must  be  made 
for  the  notion  of  that  time  as  to  what  a  child 
should  be  able  to  accomplish,  it  must  grieve  and 
surprise  us  to  find  Margaret  at  the  age  of  six 
years  engaged  in  the  study  of  Latin  and  of 
English  grammar.  Her  father  "demanded  ac- 


CHILDHOOD  AND   EARLY   YOUTH.          7 

curacy  and  clearness  in  everything."  Intelligi 
ble  statement,  reasoned  thought,  and  a  certainty 
which  excluded  all  suppositions  and  reserva 
tions, —  these  were  his  requirements  from  his 
young  pupil.  A  certain  qitasi-dogmatic  mode  of 
enunciation  in  later  life,  which  may  have  seemed, 
on  a  superficial  view,  to  indicate  an  undue  con 
fidence  and  assumption,  had  probably  its  origin 
in  the  decided  way  in  which  the  little  Margaret 
was  taught  to  recite  her  lessons.  Under  the  con-  * 
trolling  influence  of  her  father,  she  says  that  her 
own  world  sank  deep  within,  away  from  the 
surface  of  her  life  :  "  In  what  I  did  and  said  I 
learned  to  have  reference  to  other  minds,  but 
my  true  life  was  only  the  dearer  that  it  was 
secluded  and  veiled  over  by  a  thick  curtain  of 
available  intellect  and  that  coarse  but  wearable 
stuff  woven  by  the  ages,  common  sense." 

The  Latin  language  opened  for  Margaret 
the  door  to  many  delights.  The  Roman  ideal, 
definite  and  resolute,  commended  itself  to  her 
childish  judgment;  and  even  in  later  life  she 
recognized  Virgil  as  worthy  to  lead  the  great 
Dante  "  through  hell  and  to  heaven."  In  Hor 
ace  she  enjoyed  the  serene  and  courtly  appre 
ciation  of  life ;  in  Ovid,  the  first  glimpse  of 
a  mythology  which  carried  her  to  the  Greek 
Olympus.  Her  study  "  soon  ceased  to  be  a 
burden,  and  reading  became  a  habit  and  a  pas- 


8  MARGARET  FULLER. 

sion."  Her  first  real  friends  she  found  in  her 
father's  book-closet,  to  which,  in  her  leisure 
moments,  she  was  allowed  free  access.  Here, 
from  a  somewhat  miscellaneous  collection,  she 
singled  out  the  works  of  Shakespeare,  Cervantes, 
£.nd  Moliere,  — "  three  great  authors,  all,  though 
bf  unequal,  yet  of  congenial  powers  ;  all  of 
rich  and  wide,  rather  than  aspiring  genius ; 
all  free  to  the  extent  of  the  horizon  their  eye 
took  in  ;  all  fresh  with  impulse,  racy  with  expe 
rience  ;  never  to  be  lost  sight  of  or  superseded." 

Of  these  three  Shakespeare  was  the  first  in 
her  acquaintance,  as  in  her  esteem.  She  was 
but  eight  years  old  when  the  interest  of  Romeo 
and  Juliet  led  her  to  rebel  against  the  discipline 
whose  force  she  so  well  knew,  and  to  persevere 
in  reading  before  her  father's  very  eyes  a  book 
forbidden  for  the  Sabbath.  For  this  offence 
she  was  summarily  dismissed  to  bed,  where  her 
father,  coming  presently  to  expostulate  with 
her,  found  her  in  a  strangely  impenitent  state 
of  mind. 

Margaret's  books  thus  supplied  her  imagina 
tion  with  the  food  which  her  outward  surround 
ings  did  not  afford.  They  did  not,  however, 
satisfy  the  cravings  of  her  childish  heart.  These 
presently  centred  around  a  human  object  of  in 
tense  interest,  —  a  lady  born  and  bred  in  polite 
European  life,  who  brought  something  of  its 


CHILDHOOD  AND  EARLY  YOUTH.          9 

tone  and  atmosphere  to  cheer  for  a  while  the 
sombre  New  England  horizon.  Margaret  seems 
to  have  first  seen  her  at  church,  where  the  gen 
eral  aspect  of  things  was  especially  distasteful 
to  her. 

"The  puny  child  sought  everywhere  for  the 
Roman  or  Shakespeare  figures  ;  and  she  was 
met  by  the  shrewd,  honest  eye,  the  homely 
decency,  or  the  smartness  of  a  New  England 
village  on  Sunday.  There  was  beauty,  but  I 
could  not  see  it  then  ;  it  was  not  of  the  kind 
I  longed  for. 

"  As  my  eye  one  day  was  ranging  about  with 
its  accustomed  coldness,  it  was  arrested  by  a 
face  most  fair,  and  well  known,  as  it  seemed  at 
first  glance  ;  for  surely  I  had  met  her  before, 
and  waited  for  her  long.  But  soon  I  saw  that 
she  was  an  apparition  foreign  to  that  scene,  if 
not  to  me.  She  was  an  English  lady,  who,  by 
a  singular  chance,  was  cast  upon  this  region  for 
a  few  months." 

This  stranger  seems  to  have  been  as  gracious 
as  she  was  graceful.  Margaret,  after  this  first 
glimpse,  saw  her  often,  sometimes  at  a  neigh 
bor's  house,  sometimes  at  her  own.  She  was 
more  and  more  impressed  by  her  personal 
charm,  which  was  heightened  in  the  child's  eyes 
by  her  accomplishments,  rare  in  that  time  and 
place.  The  lady  painted  in  oils  and  played  on 


10  MARGARET  FULLER. 

the  harp.  Margaret  found  the  greatest  delight 
in  watching  the  growth  of  her  friend's  pictures, 
and  in  listening  to  her  music.  ^Better  still, 
they  walked  together  in  the  quiet  of  the  coun 
try.  "  Like  a  guardian  spirit,  she  led  me  through 
the  fields  and  groves  .;  and  every  tree,  every  bird, 
greeted  me  and  said,  what  I  felt,  '  She  is  the  first 
angel  of  your  life.'  " 

Delight  so  passionate  led  to  a  corresponding 
sorrow.  The  lady,  who  had  tenderly  responded 
to  the  child's  mute  adoration,  vanished  from  her 
sight,  and  was  thenceforth  known  to  her  only 
through  the  interchange  of  letters. 

"  When  this  friend  was  withdrawn,"  says  Mar 
garet,  "  I  fell  into  a  profound  depression.  Mel 
ancholy  enfolded  me  in  an  atmosphere,  as  joy 
had  done.  This  suffering,  too,  was  out  of  the 
gradual  and  natural  course.  Those  who  are 
really  children  could  not  know  such  love  or  feel 
such  sorrow."  Her  father  saw  in  this  depres 
sion  a  result  of  the  too  great  isolation  in  which 
Margaret  had  thus  far  lived.  He  felt  that  she 
needed  change  of  scene  and,  still  more,  inter 
course  with  girls  of  her  own  age.  The  remedy 
proposed  was  that  she  should  be  sent  to  school, 
—  a  measure  which  she  regarded  with  dread  and 
dislike.  She  had  hitherto  found  little  pleasure 
in  the  society  of  other  girls.  She  had  some 
times  joined  the  daughters  of  her  neighbors 


SCHOOL  DAYS.         .  II 

in  hard  play,  but  had  not  felt  herself  at  home 
with  them.  Her  retired  and  studious  life  had, 
she  says,  given  her  "a  cold  aloofness,"  which 
could  not  predispose  them  in  her  favor.  Despite 
her  resistance,  however,  her  father  persevered 
in  his  intention,  and  Margaret  became  an  inmate 
of  the  Misses  Prescott's  school  in  Groton,  Mass. 

Her  experience  here,  though  painful  in  some 
respects,  had  an  important  effect  upon  her  after 
life. 

At  first  her  unlikeness  to  her  companions 
was  uncomfortable  both  to  her  and  to  them. 
Her  exuberant  fancy  demanded  outlets  which 
the  restraints  of  boarding-school  life  would  not 
allow.  The  unwonted  excitement  produced  by 
contact  with  other  young  people  vented  itself 
in  fantastic  acts,  and  freaks  amusing  but  tor 
menting.  The  art  of  living  with  one's  kind  had 
not  formed  a  part  of  Margaret's  home  education. 
Her  nervous  system  had  already,  no  doubt,  been 
seriously  disturbed  by  overwork. 

Some  plays  were  devised  for  the  amusement 
of  the  pupils,  and  in  these  Margaret  found  her 
self  entirely  at  home.  In  each  of  these  the 
principal  part  was  naturally  assigned  her,  and 
the  superiority  in  which  she  delighted  was  thus 
recognized.  These  very  triumphs,  however,  in 
the  end  led  to  her  first  severe  mortification,  and 
on  this  wise :  — 


12  MARGARET  FULLER. 

The  use  of  rouge  had  been  permitted  to  the 
girls  on  the  occasion  of  the  plays ;  but  Margaret 
was  not  disposed,  when  these  were  over,  to 
relinquish  the  privilege,  and  continued  daily  to 
tinge  her  cheeks  with  artificial  red.  This  freak 
suggested  to  her  fellow-pupils  an  intended  pleas 
antry,  which  awakened  her  powers  of  resent 
ment  to  the  utmost.  Margaret  came  to  the 
dinner-table,  one  day,  to  find  on  the  cheeks  of 
pupils  and  preceptress  the  crimson  spot  with 
which  she  had  persisted  in  adorning  her  own. 
Suppressed  laughter,  in  which  even  the  servants 
shared,  made  her  aware  of  the  intended  carica 
ture.  Deeply  wounded,  and  viewing  the  some 
what  personal  joke  in  the  light  of  an  inflicted 
disgrace,  Margaret's  pride  did  not  forsake  her. 
She  summoned  to  her  aid  the  fortitude  which 
some  of  her  Romans  had  shown  in  trying  mo 
ments,  and  ate  her  dinner  quietly,  without  com 
ment.  When  the  meal  was  over  she  hastened 
to  her  own  room,  locked  the  door,  and  fell  on 
the  floor  in  convulsions.  Here  teachers  and 
schoolfellows  sorrowfully  found  her,  and  did 
their  utmost  to  soothe  her  wounded  feelings, 
and  to  efface  by  affectionate  caresses  the  painful 
impression  made  by  their  inconsiderate  fun. 

Margaret  recovered  from  this  excitement,  and 
took  her  place  among  her  companions,  but  with 
an  altered  countenance  and  embittered  heart. 


SCHOOL  DAYS.  13 

She  had  given  up  her  gay  freaks  and  amusing 
inventions,  and  devoted  herself  assiduously  to 
her  studies.  But  the  offence  which  she  had 
received  rankled  in  her  breast.  As  not  one  of 
her  fellow-pupils  had  stood  by  her  in  her  hour  of 
need,  she  regarded  them  as  all  alike  perfidious 
and  ungrateful,  and,  "  born  for  love,  now  hated 
all  the  world." 

This  morbid  condition  of  mind  led  to  a  result 
still  more  unhappy.  Masking  her  real  resent 
ment  beneath  a  calm  exterior,  Margaret  received 
the  confidences  of  her  schoolfellows,  and  used 
their  unguarded  speech  to  promote  discord 
among  them.  The  girls,  naturally  enough, 
talked  about  each  other,  and  said  things  which 
it  would  have  been  kind  and  wise  not  to  repeat. 
Margaret's  central  position  among  them  would 
have  enabled  her  to  reconcile  their  small  differ 
ences  and  misunderstandings,  which  she,  on  the 
contrary,  did  her  utmost  to  foment,  not  dis 
daining  to  employ  misrepresentation  in  her  mis 
chievous  mediation.  Before  long  the  spirit  of 
discord  reigned  throughout  the  school,  in  which, 
the  prime  mover  of  the  trouble  tells  us,  "scarcely 
a  peaceful  affection  or  sincere  intimacy  re 
mained."  She  had  instinctively  followed  the 
ancient  precept,  "  Divide  et  impera,"  and  ruled 
for  evil  those  who  would  have  followed  her  for 
good. 


14  MARGARET  FULLER. 

This  state  of  things  probably  became  unbear 
able.  Its  cause  was  inquired  into,  and  soon 
found.  A  tribunal  was  held,  and  before  the 
whole  school  assembled,  Margaret  was  accused 
of  calumny  and  falsehood,  and,  alas  !  convicted 
of  the  same. 

"At  first  she  defended  herself  with  self-posses 
sion  and  eloquence.  But  when  she  found  that 
she  could  no  more  resist  the  truth,  she  suddenly 
threw  herself  down,  dashing  her  head  with  all 
her  force  against  the  iron  hearth,  on  which  a 
fire  was  burning,  and  was  taken  up  senseless." 

All  present  were  of  course  greatly  alarmed 
at  this  crisis,  which  was  followed,  on  the  part 
of  Margaret,  by  days  of  hopeless  and  apathetic 
melancholy.  During  these  she  would  neither 
speak  nor  eat,  but  remained  in  a  sort  of  stupor, 
—  the  result  of  conflicting  emotions.  In  the 
pain  which  she  now  felt;  her  former  resentment 
against  her  schoolmates  disappeared.  She  saw 
only  her  own  offence,  and  saw  it  without  hope 
of  being  able  to  pass  beyond  it. 

In  this  emergency,  when  neither  the  sorrow 
of  her  young  companions  nor  the  entreaties  of 
her  teachers  seemed  to  touch  her,  a  single  friend 
was  able  to  reach  the  seat  of  Margaret's  dis 
temper,  and  to  turn  the  currents  of  her  life  once 
more  into  a  healthful  channel. 

This  lady,  a  teacher  in  the  school,  had  always 


SCHOOL   DAYS.  15 

felt  a  special  interest  in  Margaret,  whose  char 
acter  somewhat  puzzled  her.  With  the  tact  of 
true  affection,  she  drew  the  young  girl  from  the 
contemplation  of  her  own  failure,  by  narrating 
to  her  the  circumstances  which,  through  no  fault 
of  hers,  had  made  her  own  life  one  of  sorrow 
and  of  sacrifice. 

Margaret  herself,  with  a  discernment  beyond 
her  years,  had  felt  the  high  tone  of  this  lady's 
character,  and  the  "proud  sensibility"  expressed 
in  her  changing  countenance.  From  her  she 
could  learn  the  lesson  of  hope  and  of  comfort. 
Listening  to  the  story,  she  no  longer  repulsed 
the  hand  of  healing,  but  took  patiently  the 
soothing  medicine  offered  by  her  visitor. 

This  story  of  Margaret's  school  life  she  her 
self  has  told,  in  an  episode  called  "  Marianna," 
which  was  published  in  her  "  Summer  on  the 
Lakes,"  and  afterwards  embodied  in  Mr.  Clarke's 
contribution  to  the  memoir  already  published. 
We  have  already  quoted  several  passages  from 
it,  and  will  here  give  her  account  of  the  end  of 
the  whole  matter. 

"  She  returned  to  life,  but  it  was  as  one  who 
has  passed  through  the  valley  of  death.  The 
heart  of  stone  was  quite  broken  in  her;  the 
fiery  will  fallen  from  flame  to  coal. 

"  When  her  strength  was  a  little  restored,  she 
had  all  her  companions  summoned,  and  said  to 


1 6  MARGARET  FULLER. 

them  :  '  I  deserved  to  die,  but  a  generous  trust 
has  called  me  back  to  life.  I  will  be  worthy 
of  the  past,  nor  ever  betray  the  trust,  or  re 
sent  injury  more.  Can  you  forgive  the  past?' 
And,"  says  the  narrative,  "  they  not  only  for 
gave,  but  with  love  and  earnest  tears  clasped 
in  their  arms  the  returning  sister.  They  vied 
with  one  another  in  offices  of  humble  love  to  the 
humbled  one;  and  let  it  be  recorded,  as  an  in 
stance  of  the  pure  honor  of  which  young  hearts 
are  capable,  that  these  facts,  known  to  some 
forty  persons,  never,  so  far  as  I  know,  transpired 
beyond  those  walls." 

In  making  this  story  public,  we  may  believe 
Margaret  to  have  been  actuated  by  a  feeling  of 
the  value  of  such  an  experience  both  in  the  study 
of  character  and  in  the  discipline  of  young  minds. 
Here  was  a  girl,  really  a  child  in  age,  but  al 
ready  almost  a  woman  in  selfhood  and  imagina 
tion.  Untrained  in  intercourse  with  her  peers  in 
age,  she  felt  and  exaggerated  her  own  superiority 
to  those  with  whom  her  school  life  first  brought 
her  in  contact.  This  superiority  she  felt  im 
pelled  to  assert  and  maintain.  So  long  as  she 
could  queen  it  over  the  other  pupils  she  was  con 
tent.  The  first  serious  wounding  of  her  self-love 
aroused  in  her  a  vengeful  malignity,  which  grew 
with  its  own  exercise.  Unable  as  she  found  her 
self  to  command  her  little  public  by  offices  which 


SCHOOL  DAYS.  I/ 

had  seemed  to  her  acts  of  condescension,  she  de 
termined  to  rule  through  the  evil  principle  of  dis 
cord.  In  a  fortunate  moment  she  was  arrested 
in  this  course  by  an  exposure  whose  consequences 
showed  her  the  reflection  of  her  own  misconduct 
in  the  minds  of  those  around  her.  Extreme  in 
all  things,  her  self-reproach  took  the  form  of 
helpless  despair,  which  yet,  at  the  touch  of  true 
affection,  gave  way  before  the  courageous  deter 
mination  to  retrieve  past  error  by  future  good 
desert. 

The  excellence  of  Margaret's  judgment  and 
the  generosity  of  her  heart  appear  in  the  effect 
which  this  fortunate  failure  had  upon  her  ma- 
turer  life.  The  pride  of  her  selfhood  had  been 
overthrown.  She  had  learned  that  she  could 
need  the  indulgence  and  forgiveness  of  others, 
and  had  also  learned  that  her  mates,  lightly  es 
teemed  by  her  up  to  that  time,  were  capable  of 
magnanimous  forgiveness  and  generous  reha 
bilitation.  In  the  tender  strength  of  her  young 
mind,  those  impressions  were  so  received  that 
they  were  never  thereafter  effaced.  The  esteem 
of  Margaret  for  her  own  sex,  then  rare  in  wo 
men  of  her  order,  and  the  great  charity  with 
which  she  ever  regarded  the  offences  of  others, 
perhaps  referred  back  through  life  to  this  time  of 
trial,  whose  shortcoming  was  to  be  redeemed  by 
such  brilliant  achievements. 


1 8  MARGARET  FULLER. 

Margaret's  school  days  ended  soon  after  this 
time,  and  she  returned  to  her  father's  house, 
much  instructed  in  the  conditions  of  harmonious 
relations  with  her  fellows. 


CHAPTER   II. 

LIFE    IN    CAMBRIDGE. FRIENDSHIP    OF    DR. 

HEDGE    AND   JAMES    FREEMAN    CLARKE. 

DR.  HEDGE,  a  life-long  friend  of  Margaret,  has 
given  a  very  interesting  sketch  of  her  in  her 
girlhood.  He  first  met  her  when  he  was  a 
student  at  Harvard,  and  she  a  maiden  of  thir 
teen,  in  her  father's  house  at  Cambridge.  Her 
precocity,  mental  and  physical,  was  such  that 
she  passed  for  a  much  older  person,  and  had 
already  a  recognized  place  in  society.  She  was 
at  this  time  in  blooming  and  vigorous  health, 
with  a  tendency  to  over-stoutness,  which,  the 
Doctor  thinks,  gave  her  some  trouble.  She  was 
not  handsome  nor  even  pretty,  but  her  animated 
countenance  at  once  made  its  own  impression, 
and  awakened  in  those  who  saw  her  a  desire  to 
know  more  of  her.  Fine  hair  and  teeth,  viva 
cious  eyes,  and  a  peculiarly  graceful  carriage  of 
the  head  and  neck  were  points  which  redeemed 
her  from  the  charge  of  plainness.  This  face  of 
hers  was,  indeed,  sornewhat  problematic  in  its 
expression,  which  carried  with  it  the  assurance 
of  great  possibilities,  but  not  the  certainty  of 


20  MARGARET  FULLER. 

their  fulfilment.  Her  conversation  was  already 
brilliant  and  full  of  interest,  with  a  satirical  turn 
which  became  somewhat  modified  in  after  life. 
Dr.  Hedge  fixes  her  stay  in  the  Groton  school 
at  the  years  1824,  1825,  and  mentions  her  indul 
gence  in  sarcasm  as  a  source  of  trouble  to  her 
in  a  school  earlier  attended,  that  of  Dr.  Park,  of 
Boston. 

In  the  year  1826  his  slight  acquaintance  with 
her  grew  into  a  friendship  which,  as  we  have 
said,  ended  only  with  her  life.  During  the  seven 
years  that  followed  he  had  abundant  occasion  to 
note  her  steady  growth  and  the  intensity  of  her 
inner  life.  This  was  with  her,  as  with  most 
young  persons,  "a  period  of  romance  and  of 
dreams,  of  yearning  and  of  passion."  "  He  thinks 
that  she  did  not  at  this  time  pursue  any  system 
atic  study.  "  She  read  with  the  heart,  and  was 
learning  more  from  social  experience  than  from 
books."  One  leading  trait  of  her  life  was  already 
prominent.  This  was  a  passionate  love  of  all 
beauties,  both  in  nature  and  in  art. 

If  not  corresponding  to  a  scholar's  idea  of  sys 
tematic  study,  Margaret's  pursuit  of  culture  in 
those  years  must  have  been  arduous  and  many- 
sided.  This  we  may  partly  gather  from  the 
books  named  and  the  themes  touched  upon  in 
her  correspondence  with  the  beloved  teacher 
who  had  brought  her  such  near  and  tender  help 


LIFE  IN  CAMBRIDGE.  21 

in  her  hour  of  need.  To  this  lady,  in  a  letter 
dated  July  11,  1825,  Margaret  rehearses  the  rou 
tine  of  her  daily  life  :  — 

"  I  rise  a  little  before  five,  walk  an  hour,  and 
then  practise  on  the  piano  till  seven,  when  we 
breakfast.  Next  I  read  French,  Sismondi's 
'  Literature  of  the  South  of  Europe/  till  e'ight, 
then  two  or  three  lectures  in  Brown's  Philoso 
phy.  About  half-past  nine  I  go  to  Mr.  Perkins's 
school  and  study  Greek  till  twelve,  when,  the 
school  being  dismissed,  I  recite,  go  home,  and 
practise  again  till  dinner,  at  two.  Sometimes, 
if  the  conversation  is  very  agreeable,  I  lounge 
for  half  an  hour  over  the  dessert,  though  rarely 
so  lavish  of  time.  Then,  when  I  can,  I  read  two 
hours  in  Italian,  but  I  am  often  interrupted.  At 
six  I  walk  or  take  a  drive.  Before  going  to  bed 
I  play  or  sing  for  half  an  hour,  and  about  eleven 
retire  to  write  a  little  while  in  my  journal,  —  ex 
ercises  on  what  I  have  read,  or  a  series  of  char 
acteristics  which  I  am  filling  up  according  to 
advice." 

A  year  later  she  mentions  studying  "  Ma 
dame  de  Stael,  Epictetus,  Milton,  Racine,  and 
Castilian  ballads,  with  great  delight."  She  asks 
her  correspondent  whether  she  would  rather 
be  the  brilliant  De  Stael  or  the  useful  Edge- 
worth.  In  1827  we  find  her  occupied  with  a  criti 
cal  study  of  the  elder  Italian  poets.  She  now 


22  MARGARET  FULLER. 

mentions  Miss  Francis  (Lydia  Maria  Child)  as  her 
intended  companion  in  a  course  of  metaphysical 
study.  She  characterizes  this  lady  as  "  a  natu 
ral  person,  a  most  rare  thing  in  this  age  of  cant 
and  pretension.  Her  conversation  is  charming  ; 
she  brings  all  her  powers  to  bear  upon  it.  Her 
style  is  varied,  and  she  has  a  very  pleasant  and 
spirited  way  of  thinking." 

Margaret's  published  correspondence  with  her 
dear  teacher  ends  in  1830,  with  these  words  :  — 

"  My  beloved  supporter  in  those  sorrowful 
hours,  can  I  ever  forget  that  to  your  treatment 
in  that  crisis  of  youth  I  owe  the  true  life,  the 
love  of  Truth  and  Honor  ?  " 

From  these  years  of  pedagogy  and  of  patience 
we  must  now  pass  to  the  time  when  this  bud, 
so  full  of  promise,  unfolded  into  a  flower  rare 
and  wondrous. 

The  story  of  Margaret's  early  studies,  and  the 
wide  reach  of  her  craving  for  knowledge,  already 
mark  her  as  a  creature  of  uncommon  gifts.  A 
devourer  of  books  she  had  been  from  the  start ; 
but  books  alone  could  not  content  this  ardent 
mind,  at  once  so  critical  and  so  creative.  She 
must  also  have  life  at  first-hand,  and  feed  her 
intelligence  from  its  deepest  source.  Hence  the 
long  story  of  her  friendships,  so  many  and  vari 
ous,  yet  so  earnest  and  efficient. 

What  the  chosen  associates  of  this  wonderful 


FRIENDSHIPS.  23 

woman  have  made  public  concerning  the  inter 
est  of  her  conversation  and  the  value  of  her 
influence  tasks  to  the  utmost  the  believing 
powers  of  a  time  in  which  the  demon  of  self- 
interest  seems  to  unfold  himself  out  of  most  of 
the  metamorphic  flowers  of  society.  Margaret 
and  her  friends  might  truly  have  said,  "  Our 
kingdom  is  not  of  this  world,"  —  at  least,  accord 
ing  to  what  this  world  calls  kingly.  But  what 
imperial  power  had  this  self-poised  soul,  which 
could  so  widely  open  its  doors  and  so  closely 
shut  them,  which  could  lead  in  its  train  the 
brightest  and  purest  intelligences,  and  "  bind  the 
sweet  influences  "  of  starry  souls  in  the  garland 
of  its  happy  hours !  And  here  we  may  say, 
her  kingdom  was  not  all  of  this  world  ;  for  the 
kingdom  of  noble  thought  and  affection  is  in  this 
world  and  beyond  it,  and  the  real  and  ideal  are 
at  peace  within  its  bounds. 

In  the  divided  task  of  Margaret's  biography 
it  was  given  to  James  Freeman  Clarke  to  speak 
of  that  early  summer  of  her  life,  in  which  these 
tender  and  intimate  relations  had  their  first  and 
most  fervent  unfolding.  The  Harvard  student 
of  that  day  was  probably  a  personage  very  unlike 
the  present  revered  pastor  of  the  Church  of  the 
Disciples.  Yet  we  must  believe  that  the  one 
was  graciously  foreshadowed  in  the  other,  and 


24  MARGARET  FULLER. 

that  Margaret  found  in  him  the  germ  of  what 
the  later  world  has  learned  so  greatly  to  respect 
and  admire. 

The  acquaintance  between  these  two  began 
in  1829,  and  was  furthered  by  a  family  connec 
tion  which  Margaret,  in  one  of  her  early  letters, 
playfully  characterized  as  a  cousinship  in  the 
thirty-seventh  degree. 

During  the  four  years  immediately  following, 
the  two  young  people  either  met  or  corresponded 
daily.  In  explaining  the  origin  of  this  friend 
ship,  Mr.  Clarke  modestly  says  :  — 

"  She  needed  a  friend  to  whom  to  speak  of 
her  studies,  to  whom  to  express  the  ideas  which 
were  dawning  and  taking  shape  in  her  mind. 
She  accepted  me  for  this  friend ;  and  to  me  it 
was  a  gift  of  the  gods,  an  influence  like  no 
other." 

This  intercourse  was  at  first  on  both  sides  an 
entertainment  sought  and  found.  In  its  early 
stages  Margaret  characterizes  her  correspondent 
as  "  a  socialist  by  vocation,  a  sentimentalist  by 
nature,  and  a  Channing-ite  from  force  of  circum 
stance  and  of  fashion."  Further  acquaintance 
opened  beneath  the  superficial  interest  the 
deeper  sources  of  sympathy,  and  a  valued  letter 
from  Margaret  is  named  by  Mr.  Clarke  as 
having  laid  the  foundation  of  a  friendship  to 
which  he  owed  both  intellectual  enlightenment 


FRIENDSHIPS.  2$ 

and  spiritual  enlargement.  More  than  for  these 
he  thanks  Margaret  for  having  imparted  to  him 
an  impulse  which  carried  him  bravely  forward 
in  what  has  proved  to  be  the  normal  direction 
of  his  life.  Although  destined,  after  those  early 
years  of  intimate  communion,  to  live  far  apart 
and  in  widely  different  spheres  of  labor  and  of 
interest,  the  regard  of  the  two  friends  never 
suffered  change  or  diminution. 

And  here  we  come  upon  a  governing  feature 
in  Margaret's  intercourse  with  her  friends.  She 
had  the  power  of  leading  those  who  interested 
her  to  a  confidence  which  unfolded  to  her  the 
deepest  secrets  of  their  life.  Now  came  in  play 
that  unexplained  action  of  one  mind  upon  an 
other  which  we  call  personal  magnetism,  and 
which  is  more  distinctly  recognized  to-day  than 
in  other  times  as  an  element  in  social  efficiency. 
It  is  this  power  which,  united  with  intellectual 
force,  gives  leadership  to  individual  men,  and 
enables  the  great  orator  to  hold  a  mighty  audi 
ence  in  the  hollow  of  his  hand. 

With  Margaret  at  the  period  we  speak  of  the 
exercise  of  this  power  was  intensive  rather  than 
extensive.  The  circumstances  of  the  time  had 
something  to  do  with  this.  Here  was  a  soul 
whose  objects  and  desires  boldly  transcended 
the  sphere  of  ordinary  life.  It  could  neither 
wholly  contain  nor  fitly  utter  itself.  Pulpit  and 


26  MARGARET  FULLER. 

platform  were  then  interdicted  to  her  sex.  The 
mimic  stage,  had  she  thought  of  it,  would  have 
mocked  her  with  its  unreality.  On  single  souls, 
one  at  a  time,  she  laid  her  detaining  grasp,  and 
asked  what  they  could  receive  and  give.  Some 
thing  noble  she  must  perceive  in  them  before  she 
would  condescend  to  this  parley.  She  did  not 
insist  that  her  friends  should  possess  genius  ; 
but  she  could  only  make  friends  of  those  who, 
•  like  herself,  were  seekers  after  the  higher  life. 
Worthiness  of  object  commended  even  medioc 
rity  to  her  ;  but  shallow  worldliness  awakened 
her  contempt. 

In  the  exercise  of  this  discrimination  she  no 
doubt  sometimes  gave  offence.  Mr.  Clarke 
acknowledges  that  she  not  only  seemed,  but 
was,  haughty  and  supercilious  to  the  multitude, 
*  while  to  the  chosen  few  she  was  the  very  em 
bodiment  of  tender  and  true  regard. 

It  must  also  be  acknowledged  that  this  same 
magnetism  which  attracted  some  persons  so 
strongly  was  to  others  as  strongly  repellent. 
Where  she  was  least  known  this  repulsion  was 
most  felt.  It  yielded  to  admiration  and  esteem 
where  acquaintance  went  beyond  the  mere  rec 
ognition  of  Margaret's  air  and  manner,  which 
made  a  stranger  a  little  uncertain  whether  he 
would  be  amicably  entertained  or  subjected  to 
a  reductio  ad  absurdum.  As  in  any  community 


FRIENDSHIPS.  2/ 

impressions  of  personality  are  more  likely  to  be 
superficial  than  thorough,  it  is  probable  that  a 
very  general  misunderstanding  which,  at  a  later 
day,  grew  up  between  Margaret  and  the  great 
world  of  a  small  New  England  city  had  its  ori 
gin  in  a  misconstruction  of  her  manner  when 
among  strangers,  or  on  the  occasion  of  a  first 
introduction.  To  recall  this  shallow  popular 
judgment  of  her  is  not  pleasant,  but  some  men 
tion  of  it  does  belong  to  any  summary  of  her 
life.  With  such  friends  as  she  had,  she  had  no 
reason  to  look  upon  herself  as  one  who  was 
neither  understood  nor  appreciated.  Yet  her 
heart,  which  instinctively  sought  the  empire 
of  universal  love,  may  have  been  grieved  at  the 
indifference  and  dislike  which  she  sometimes  en 
countered.  Those  who  know  how,  in  some  cir 
cles,  her  name  became  a  watchword  for  all  that 
was  eccentric  and  pretentious  in  the  woman 
hood  of  her  day,  will  smile  or  sigh  at  the  con 
trast  between  the  portraitures  of  Margaret  given 
in  the  volumes  of  the  memoir  and  the  caricature 
of  her  which  was  current  in  the  mind  of  the 
public  at  large. 

These  remarks  anticipate  the  pains  and  dis 
tinctions  of  a  later  period.  For  the  present 
let  us  confine  our  attention  to  the  happy  days 
at  Cambridge,  which  Margaret  may  not  have 
recognized  as  such,  but  which  must  have  seemed 


28  MARGARET  FULLER. 

bright  to  her  when  contrasted  with  the  years 
of  labor  and  anxiety  which  followed  them. 

Mr.  Clarke  tells  us  that  Margaret  and  he  be 
gan  the  study  of  the  German  language  in  1832, 
moved  thereunto  by  Thomas  Carlyle's  brilliant 
exposition  of  the  merits  of  leading  German  au 
thors.  In  three  months'  time  Margaret  had 
acquired  easy  command  of  the  language,  and 
within  the  year  had  read  the  most  important 
works  of  Goethe  and  Schiller,  with  the  writings 
also  of  Tieck,  Korner,  Richter,  and  Novalis. 
Extracts  from  her  letters  at  this  time  show  that 
this  extensive  reading  was  neither  hasty  nor 
superficial. 

She  finds  herself  happier  in  the  companion 
ship  of  Schiller  than  in  that  of  Goethe,  of  whom 
she  says,  "  That  perfect  wisdom  and  merciless 
,  reason  seem  cold  after  those  Deducing  pictures 
of  forms  more  beautiful  than  truth."  The 
"  Elective  Affinities  "  suggests  to  her  various 
critical  questions,  but  does  not  carry  her  away 
with  the  sweep  of  its  interest.  From  ''the 
immense  superiority  of  Goethe"  she  finds  it 
a  relief  to  turn  to  the  simplicity  of  Novalis,  "  a 
wondrous  youth,  who  has  written  only  one  vol 
ume,"  and  whose  "  one-sidedness,  imperfection, 
and  glow  seem  refreshingly  human"  to  her. 
Korner  becomes  a  fixed  star  in  the  heaven  of 
her  thought.  Lessing  interests  her  less.  She 


PERIOD   OF  ROMANCE.  29 

credits  him  with  the  production  of  "well  con 
ceived  and  sustained  characters  and  interesting 
situations,"  but  not  with  any  profound  knowledge 
of  human  nature.  "  I  think  him  easily  followed  ; 
strong,  but  not  deep." 

This  was  with  Margaret,  as  Dr.  Hedge  has 
well  observed,  the  period  of  romance.  Her 
superiority  to  common  individuals  appeared  in 
the  fact  that  she  was  able  to  combine  with 
intense  personal  aspirations  and  desires  a  wide 
outlook  into  the  destinies  of  the  human  race. 

We  find  her,  in  these  very  days,  "engaged 
in  surveying  the  level  on  which  the  public  mind 
is  poised."  She  turns  from  the  poetic  tragedy 
and  comedy  of  life  to  study,  as  she  says,  "  the 
rules  of  its  prose,"  and  to  learn  from  the  talk 
of  common  people  what  elements  and  modes  of 
thought  go  to  make  up  the  average  American 
mind.  She  listens  to  George  Thompson,  the 
English  anti-slavery  orator,  and  is  led  to  say  that, 
if  she  had  been  a  man,  she  should  have  coveted 
the  gift  of  eloquence  above  all  others,  and  this 
for  the  intensity  of  its  effects.  She  thinks  of 
writing  six  historical  tragedies,  and  devises  the 
plan  for  three  of  them.  Tales  of  Hebrew  his 
tory  it  is  also  in  her  mind  to  compose.  Becom 
ing  convinced  that  "  some  fixed  opinion  on  the 
subject  of  metaphysics  is  an  essential  aid  to 
systematic  culture,"  she  addresses  herself  to  the 


30  MARGARET  FULLER. 

study  of  Fichte  and  Jacobi,  of  Brown  and  Stew 
art.  The  first  of  these  appeared  to  her  incom 
prehensible.  Of  the  second,  she  conjectures 
that  his  views  are  derived  from  some  author 
whom  she  has  not  read.  She  thinks  in  good 
earnest  of  writing  a  life  of  Goethe,  and  wishes 
to  visit  Europe  in  order  to  collect  the  material 
requisite  for  this.  Her  appreciation  of  Dr. 
Channing  is  shown  in  a  warm  encomium  on 
his  work  treating  of  slavery,  of  which  she  says, 
"  It  comes  like  a  breath  borne  over  some  solemn 
sea  which  separates  us  from  an  island  of  right 
eousness." 

In  summing  up  his  account  of  this  part  of 
Margaret's  life,  Mr.  Clarke  characterizes  self- 
culture  as  the  object  in  which  she  was  content 
to  lose  sight  of  all  others.  Her  devotion  to  this 
great  end  was,  he  says,  "wholly  religious,  and 
almost  Christian."  She  was  religious  in  her 
recognition  of  the  divine  element  in  human  ex 
perience,  and  Christian  in  her  elevation  above 
the  sordid  interests  of  life,  and  in  her  devotion 
to  the  highest  standards  of  duty  and  of  destiny. 
He  admits,  however,  that  her  aim,  noble  as  it 
was,  long  remained  too  intensely  personal  to 
reach  the  absolute  generosity  required  by  the 
Christian  rule.  This  defect  made  itself  felt  out 
wardly  by  a  certain  disesteem  of  "  the  vulgar 
herd,"  and  in  an  exaggerated  worship  of  great 


SELF-CULTURE.  31 

personalities.  Its  inner  effects  were  more 
serious.  To  her  darling  desire  for  growth  and 
development  she  sacrificed  "everything  but 
manifest  duty."  The  want  of  harmony  between 
her  outward  circumstances  and  her  inward  long 
ings  so  detained  her  thoughts  that  she  was 
unable  to  pass  beyond  the  confines  of  the  pres 
ent  moment,  and  could  not  foresee  that  true 
growth  must  bring  her,  as  it  soon  did,  a  great 
enlargement  of  influence  and  relation. 


CHAPTER  III. 

RELIGIOUS  BELIEFS. — MARGARET'S  EARLY  CRITICS. 
FIRST  ACQUAINTANCE  WITH  MR.  EMERSON. 

IT  was  to  be  expected  that  in  such  a  corre 
spondence  as  that  between  Margaret  and  James 
Freeman  Clarke  the  chord  of  religious  belief 
would  not  remain  untouched.  From  Marga 
ret's  own  words,  in  letters  and  in  her  journal, 
we  clearly  gather  that  her  mind,  in  this  respect, 
passed  through  a  long  and  wide  experience. 
Fortunate  for  her  was,  in  that  day,  the  Unita 
rian  pulpit,  with  its  larger  charity  and  freer  exe 
gesis.  With  this  fold  for  her  spiritual  home, 
she  could  go  in  and  out,  finding  pasture,  while 
by  the  so-called  Orthodox  sects  she  would  have 
been  looked  upon  as  standing  without  the  bounds 
of  all  religious  fellowship. 

The  requirements  of  her  nature  were  twofold. 
A  religious  foundation  for  thought  was  to  her 
a  necessity.  Equally  necessary  was  to  her  the 
untrammelled  exercise  of  critical  judgment,  and 
the  thinking  her  own  thoughts,  instead  of  •accept 
ing  those  of  other  people.  We  may  feel  sure 
that  Margaret,  even  to  save  her  own  soul,  would 


RELIGIOUS  BELIEFS.  33 

not  and  could  not  have  followed  any  confession 
of  faith  in  opposition  to  her  own  best  judgment. 
She  would  have  preferred  the  hell  of  the  free 
soul  to  the  heaven  of  the  slave.  To  combine 
this  intellectual  interpretation  of  religious  duty 
with  the  simple  devotion  which-  the  heart  craves 
is  not  easy  for  any  one.  We  may  be  very  glad 
to  find  that  for  her  it  was  not  impossible.  Her 
attitude  between  these  two  points  of  opposition 
is  indeed  edifying ;  for,  while  she  follows  thought 
with  the  daring  of  a  sceptic,  and  fearlessly  rea 
sons  concerning  the  highest  mysteries,  she  yet 
acknowledges  the  insufficiency  of  human  knowl 
edge  for  themes  so  wonderful,  and  here,  as 
nowhere  else,  bows  her  imperial  head  and  con 
fesses  herself  human. 

One  thing  we  may  learn  from  what  Margaret 
has  written  on  this  subject,  if  we  do  not  already 
know  it,  and  this  is,  that  in  any  true  religious 
experience  there  must  be  progress  and  change 
of  attitude.  This  progress  may  be  first  initiated 
by  the  preponderance  of  thought  or  by  that  of 
affection,  but,  as  it  goes  on,  t|je  partiality  of 
first  views  will  be  corrected  by  considerations 
which  are  developed  by  later  study.  Religious 
sincerity  is,  in  the  end,  justified  in  all  its  stages  ; 
but  these  stages,  separately  considered,  will  ap 
pear  more  or  less  incomplete  and  sometimes  even 
irreligious. 


V 


34  MARGARET  FULLER. 

When  first  interrogated  by  her  correspondent, 
she  says :  "  I  have  determined  not  to  form  set 
tled  opinions  at  present.  Loving  or  feeble  na 
tures  need  a  positive  religion,  a  visible  refuge, 
a  protection,  as  much  in  the  passionate  season 
of  youth  as  in  those  stages  nearer  to  the  grave. 
But  mine  is  not  such.  My  pride  is  superior  to 
any  feelings  I  have  yet  experienced  ;  my  affec 
tion  is  strong  admiration,  not  the  necessity  of 
giving  or  receiving  assistance  or  sympathy."  So 
much  for  the  subjective  side  of  the  matter  with 
Margaret  at  this  time.  The  objective  is  formu 
lated  by  her  in  this  brief  creed  :  "  I  believe  in 
Eternal  Progression.  I  believe  in  a  God,  a 
Beauty  and  Perfection  to  which  I  am  to  strive 
all  my  life  for  assimilation.  From  these  two 
articles  of  belief  I  draw  the  rules  by  which  I 
strive  to  regulate  my  life.  Tangible  promises, 
well-defined  hopes,  are  things  of  which  I  do 
not  now  feel  the  need.  At  present  my  soul  is 
intent  on  this  life,  and  I  think  of  religion  as 
its  rule." 

Those  last  words  are  not  in  contrast  with  the 
general  tone  of  religious  teaching  to-day,  but 
when  Margaret  wrote  them  to  James  Freeman 
Clarke,  an  exaggerated  adjournment  of  human 
happiness  to  the  glories  of  another  world  was 
quite  commonly  considered  as  essential  to  a 
truly  Christian  standpoint. 


RELIGIOUS  BELIEFS.  35 

Even  at  this  self-sufficing  period  of  her  life 
Margaret's  journals  were  full  of  prayer  and  as 
piration.  Here  are  some  of  the  utterances  of 
this  soul,  which  she  herself  calls  a  proud  one  : 
"  Blessed  Father,  nip  every  foolish  wish  in  blos 
som.  Lead  me  any  way  to  truth  and  goodness, 
but  if  it  might  be,  I  would  not  pass  from  idol 
to  idol.  Let  no  mean  sculpture  deform  a  mind 
disorderly,  perhaps  ill-furnished,  but  spacious  and 
life-warm." 

After  hearing  a  sermon  on  the  nature  of 
duties,  social  and  personal,  she  says :  "  My 
heart  swelled  with  prayer.  I  began  to  feel  hope 
that  time  and  toil  might  strengthen  me  to  de 
spise  the  '  vulgar  parts  of  felicity,'  and  live  as 
becomes  an  immortal  creature.  Oh,  lead  me, 
my  Father  !  root  out  false  pride  and  selfishness 
from  my  heart  ;  inspire  me  with  virtuous  energy, 
and  enable  me  to  improve  every  talent  for  the 
eternal  good  of  myself  and  others." 

Seasons  of  bitter  discouragement  alternated 
at  this  time  with  the  moments  in  which  she  felt, 
not  only  her  own  power,  but  also  the  excellence* 
of  her  aims  in  life. 

Of  one  of  these  dark  hours  Margaret's  jour 
nal  gives  a  vivid  description,  from  which  some 
passages  may  be  quoted.  The  occasion  was  a 
New  England  Thanksgiving,  a  day  on  which  her 
attendance  at  church  was  almost  compulsory. 


36  MARGARET  FULLER. 

This  church  was  not  to  her  a  spiritual  home, 
and  on  the  day  now  spoken  of  the  song  of 
thanksgiving  made  positive  discord  in  her  ears. 
She  felt  herself  in  no  condition  to  give  thanks. 
Her  feet  were  entangled  in  the  problem  of  life. 
Her  soul  was  agonized  by  its  unreconciled  con 
tradictions. 

"  I  was  wearied  out  with  mental  conflicts.  I 
felt  within  myself  great  power  and  generosity 
and  tenderness  ;  but  it  seemed  to  me  as  if  they 
were  all  unrecognized,  and  as  if  it  was  impossi 
ble  that  they  should  be  used  in  life.  I  was  only 
one-and-twenty  ;  the  past  was  worthless,  the 
future  hopeless  ;  yet  I  could  not  remember  ever 
voluntarily  to  have  done  a  wrong  thing,  and  my 
aspiration  seemed  very  high." 

Looking  about  in  the  church,  she  envied  the 
little  children  for  their  sense  of  dependence  and 
protection.  She  knew  not,  she  says,  "  that  none 
could  have  any  father  but  God,"  knew  not  that 
she  was  "not  the  only  lonely  one,  the  selected 
CEdipus,  the  special  victim  of  an  iron  law." 

From  this  intense  and  exaggerated  self- 
consciousness,  the  only  escape  was  in  fleeing 
from  self.  She  sought  to  do  this,  as  she  had 
often  done,  by  a  long  quick  walk,  whose  fatigue 
should  weary  out  her  anguish,  and  enable  her 
to  return  houie  "  in  a  state  of  prayer."  On  this 
day  this  resource  did  not  avail  her. 


RELIGIOUS  BELIEFS.  37 

"  All  seemed  to  have  reached  its  height.  It 
seemed  as  if  I  could  never  return  to  a  world  in 
which  I  had  no  place,  to  the  mockery  of  human- 
_ities.  I  could  not  act  a  part,  nor  seem  to  live 
any  longer." 

The  aspect  of  the  outer  world  was  in  corre 
spondence  with  these  depressing  thoughts. 

"  It  was  a  sad  and  sallow  day  of  the  late 
autumn.  Slow  processions  of  clouds  were  pass 
ing  over  a  cold  blue  sky  ;  the  hues  of  earth  were 
dull  and  gray  and  brown,  with  sickly  struggles 
of  late  green  here  and  there.  Sometimes  a 
moaning  gust  of  wind  drove  late,  reluctant  leaves 
across  the  path  —  there  was  no  life  else."  Driven 
from  place  to  place  by  the  conflict  within  her, 
she  sat  down  at  last  to  rest  "  where  the  trees 
were  thick  about  a  little  pool,  dark  and  silent. 
All  was  dark,  and  cold,  and  still."  Suddenly 
the  sun  broke  through  the  clouds  "  with  that 
transparent  sweetness,  like  the  last  smile  of  a 
dying  lover,  which  it  will  use  when  it  has  been 
unkind  all  a  cold  autumn  day."  And  with  this 
unlooked-for  brightness  passed  into  her  soul  "a 
beam  from  its  true  sun,"  whose  radiance,  she  says, 
never  departed  more.  This  sudden  illumination 
was  not,  however,  an  unreasoning,  unaccounta 
ble  one.  In  that  moment  flashed  upon  her  the 
solution  of  the  problem  of  self,  whose  perplexi 
ties  had  followed  her  from  her  childish  days. 


38  MARGARET  FULLER. 

She  comprehended  at  once  the  struggle  in  which 
she  had  been  well-nigh  overcome,  and  the  illu 
sion  which  had  till  then  made  victory  impossible. 
"  I  saw  how  long  it  must  be  before  the  soul  can 
learn  to  act  under  these  limitations  of  time  and 
space  and  human  nature  ;  but  I  saw  also  that  it 
must  do  it.  I  saw  there  was  no  self,  that  selfish 
ness  was  all  folly,  and  the  result  of  circumstance ; 
that  it  was  only  because  I  thought  self  real  that 
I  suffered ;  that  I  had  only  to  live  in  the  idea  of 
the  all,  and  all  was  mine.  This  truth  came  to 
me,  and  I  received  it  unhesitatingly ;  so  that 
I  was  for  that  hour  taken  up  into  God.  .  .  . 
My  earthly  pain  at  not  being  recognized  never 
went  deep  after  this  hour.  I  had  passed  the 
extreme  of  passionate  sorrow,  and  all  check,  all 
failure,  all  ignorance,  have  seemed  temporary 
ever  since." 

The  progress  of  this  work  already  brings  us 
to  that  portion  of  Margaret's  life  in  which  her 
character  was  most  likely  to  be  judged  of  by  the 
world  around  her  as  already  determined  in  its 
features  and  aspect.  That  this  judgment  was 
often  a  misjudgment  is  known  to  all  who  re 
member  Margaret's  position  in  Boston  society 
in  the  days  of  her  lessons  and  conversations.  A 
really  vulgar  injustice  was  often  done  her  by 
those  who  knew  of  her  only  her  appearance 
and  supposed  pretensions.  Those  to  whom  she 


EARLY  CRITICS.      .  39 

never  was  a  living  presence  may  naturally  ask 
of  those  who  profess  to  have  known  her,  whether 
this  injustice  did  not  originate  with  herself, 
whether  she  did  not  do  herself  injustice  by  ha 
bitually  presenting  herself  in  an  attitude  which 
was  calculated  to  heighten  the  idea,  already  con 
ceived,  of  her  arrogance  and  overweening  self- 
esteem. 

Independently  of  other  sources  of  information, 
the  statements  of  one  so  catholic  and  charitable 
as  Mr.  Emerson  meet  us  here,  and  oblige  us  to 
believe  that  the  great  services  which  Margaret 
was  able  to  render  to  those  with  whom  she  came 
into  relation  were  somewhat  impaired  by  a  self- 
esteem  which  it  would  have  been  unfortunate 
for  her  disciples  to  imitate.  The  satirists  of  the 
time  saw  this,  and  Margaret,  besides  encounter 
ing  the  small-shot  of  society  ridicule,  received 
now  and  then  such  a  broadside  as  James  Russell 
Lowell  gave  her  in  his  "  Fable  for  Critics."  Of 
this  long  and  somewhat  bitter  tirade  a  few  lines 
may  suffice  as  a  specimen  :  — 

"  But  here  comes  Miranda.    Zeus  !  where  shall  I  flee  to  ? 
She  has  such  a  penchant  for  bothering  me,  too ! 
She  always  keeps  asking  if  I  don't  observe  a 
Particular  likeness  'twixt  her  and  Minerva. 


She  will  take  an  old  notion  and  make  it  her  own, 
By  saying  it  o'er  in  her  sibylline  tone  ; 


40  MARGARET  FULLER. 

Or  persuade  you  't  is  something  tremendously  deep, 
By  repeating  it  so  as  to  put  you  to  sleep  ; 
And  she  well  may  defy  any  mortal  to  see  through  it, 
When  once  she  has  mixed  up  her  infinite  me  through  it. 

Here  Miranda  came  up  and  said  :  Phoebus,  you  know 
That  the  infinite  soul  has  its  infinite  woe, 
As  I  ought  to  know,  having  lived  cheek  by  jowl, 
Since  the  day  I  was  born,  with  the  infinite  soul" 

These  remarks,  explanatory  and  apologetic, 
are  suggested  partly  by  Mr.  Emerson's  state 
ments  concerning  the  beginning  of  his  acquaint 
ance  with  Margaret,  and  partly  by  the  writer's 
own  recollections  of  the  views  of  outsiders  con 
cerning  her,  which  contrasted  strongly  with  the 
feeling  and  opinion  of  her  intimates. 

Mr.  Emerson  first  heard  of  Margaret  from 
Dr.  Hedge,  and  afterwards  from  Miss  Marti- 
neau.  Both  were  warm  in  their  praise  of  her, 
and  the  last-named  was  especially  desirous  to 
introduce  her  to  Mr.  Emerson,  whom  she  very 
much  wished  to  know.  After  one  or  more  chance 
meetings,  it  was  arranged  that  Margaret  should 
spend  a  fortnight  with  Mrs.  Emerson.  The 
date  of  this  visit  was  in  July,  1836. 

To  the  description  of  her  person  already  quoted 
from  Dr.  Hedge,  we  may  add  a  sentence  or  two 
from  Mr.  Emerson's  record  of  his  first  impres 
sions  of  her :  — 

"  She  had  a  face  and  frame  that  would  indi- 


ACQUAINTANCE    WITH  EMERSON.       41 

cate  fulness  and  tenacity  of  life.  .  .  .  She  was 
then,  as  always,  carefully  and  becomingly  dressed, 
and  of  lady-like  self-possession.  For  the  rest, 
her  appearance  had  nothing  prepossessing.  Her 
extreme  plainness,  a  trick  of  incessantly  opening 
and  shutting  her  eyelids,  the  nasal  tone  of  her 
voice,  all  repelled  ;  and  I  said  to  myself,  we  shall 
never  get  far." 

But  Margaret  greatly  esteemed  Mr.  Emerson, 
and  was  intent  upon  establishing  a  friendly  rela 
tion  with  him.  Her  reputation  for  satire  was 
well  known  to  him,  and  was  rather  justified  in 
his  eyes  by  the  first  half-hour  of  her  conversa 
tion  with  him. 

"  I  believe  I  fancied  her  too  much  interested 
in  personal  history  ;  and  her  talk  was  a  comedy 
in  which  dramatic  justice  was  done  to  every 
body's  foibles.  I  remember  that  she  made  me 
laugh  more  than  I  liked." 

Passing  into  a  happier  vein,  she  unfolded  her 
brilliant  powers  of  repartee,  expressed  her  own 
opinions,  and  sought  to  discover  those  of  her 
companion.  Soon  her  wit  had  effaced  the  im 
pression  of  her  personal  unattractiveness  ;  "and 
the  eyes,  which  were  so  plain  at  first,  swam  with 
fun  and  drolleries,  and  the  very  tides  of  joy  and 
superabundant  life."  He  now-  saw  that  "  her 
satire  was  only  the  pastime  and  necessity  of 
her  talent,"  and  as  he  learned  to  know  her 


42  MARGARET  FULLER. 

better,  her  plane  of  character  rose  constantly 
in  his  estimation,  disclosing  "  many  moods  and 
powers,  in  successive  platforms  or  terraces,  each 
above  each." 

Mr.  Emerson  likens  Margaret's  relations  with 
her  friends  to  the  wearing  of  a  necklace  of  social 
brilliants  of  the  first  water.  A  dreaded  waif 
among  the  merely  fashionable,  her  relations  with 
men  and  women  of  higher  tastes  were  such  that, 
as  Mr.  Emerson  says,  "  All  the  art,  the  thought, 
and  the  nobleness  in  New  England  seemed  at 
that  moment  related  to  her,  and  she  to  it." 

In  the  houses  of  such  friends  she  was  always 
a  desired  guest,  and  in  her  various  visitings  she 
"seemed  like  the  queen  of  some  parliament  of 
love,  who  carried  the  key  to  all  confidences,  and 
to  whom  every  question  had  been  referred." 

Mr.  Emerson  gives  some  portraits  which  make 
evident  the  variety  as  well  as  the  extent  of  Mar 
garet's  attraction.  Women  noted  for  beauty  and 
for  social  talent,  votaries  of  song,  students  of  art 
and  literature,  —  men  as  well  as  women,  —  vied 
with  each  other  in  their  devotion  to  her.  To 
each  she  assumed  and  sustained  a  special  rela 
tion  whose  duties  and  offices  she  never  neglected 
nor  confounded.  To  each  she  became  at  once  a 
source  of  inspiration  and  a  court  of  appeal.  The 
beneficence  of  her  influence  may  be  inferred  from 
the  lasting  gratitude  of  her  friends,  who  always 


POWER   OVER    OTHERS.  43 

remembered  her  as  having  wisely  guided  and 
counselled  them. 

Any  human  life  is  liable  to  be  modified  by  the 
supposition  that  its  results  are  of  great  interest 
to  some  one  whose  concern  in  them  is  not  a 
selfish  one.  Where  this  supposition  is  verified 
by  corresponding  acts,  the  power  of  the  indi 
vidual  is  greatly  multiplied.  This  merciful,  this 
providential  interest  Margaret  felt  for  each  of 
her  many  friends.  There  was  no  illusion  in  the 
sense  of  her  value  which  they,  all  and  severally, 
entertained. 

Where,  we  may  ask,  shall  we  look  to-day  for 
a  friendliness  so  wide  and  so  availing  ?  We  can 
only  answer  that  such  souls  are  not  sent  into 
the  world  every  day.  Few  of  us  can  count 
upon  inspiring  even  in  those  who  are  nearest 
and  dearest  to  us  this  untiring  concern  in  our 
highest  welfare.  But  such  a  friend  to  so  many 
it  would  be  hard  to  find. 

When  we  consider  Margaret's  love  of  litera 
ture,  and  her  power  of  making  its  treasures  her 
own,  we  must  think  of  this  passion  of  hers  for 
availing  intercourse  with  other  minds  as  indeed 
a  providential  gift  which  no  doubt  lavished  in 
passing  speech  much  that  would  have  been  elo 
quent  on  paper,  but  which  evidently '  had  on 
society  the  immediate  and  intensified  effect 
which  distinguishes  the  living  word  above  the 
dead  letter. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

ART  STUDIES. —  REMOVAL  TO  GROTON. —  MEETING 
WITH  HARRIET  MARTINEAU. —  DEATH  OF  MR. 
FULLER. DEVOTION  TO  HER  FAMILY. 

9 

MARGARET'S  enthusiasm  for  art  was  in  some 
measure  the  result  of  her  study  of  Goethe.  Yet 
she  had  in  herself  a  love  of  the  beautiful,  and  a 
sense  of  its  office  in  life,  which  would  naturally 
have  led  her  far  in  the  direction  in  which  this 
great  master  gave  her  so  strong  an  impulsion. 
In  her  multifarious  reading  she  gave  much  time 
to  the  literature  of  art,  and  in  those  days  had 
)  read  everything  that  related  to  Michael  Angelo 
and  Raphael,  Quatremere  de  Quincy,  Condivi, 
Vasari,  Benvenuto  Cellini,  and  others.  The 
masters  themselves  she  studied  in  the  casts  of 
the  Boston  Athenaeum,  in  the  Brimmer  Collec 
tion  of  Engravings,  and  in  the  contents  of 
certain  portfolios  which  a  much-esteemed  friend 
placed  at  her  service,  and  which  contained  all 
the  designs  of  Michael  and  Raphael. 

The  delight  which  Margaret  felt  in  these 
studies  demanded  the  sympathy  of  her  elect 
associates,  and  Mr.  Emerson  remembers  cer- 


ART  STUDIES.  45 

tain  months  as  having  been  "  colored  with  the 
genius  of  these  Italians."  In  1839  Mr.  Allston's 
numerous  works  were  collected  for  a  public 
exhibition  which  drew  to  Boston  lovers  of  art 
from  many  distant  places.  In  the  same  year 
some  sculptures  of  Greenough  and  Crawford 
were  added  to  the  attractions  of  the  Boston 
Athenaeum. 

In  Margaret's  appreciation  of  these  works,  if 
we  may  believe  Mr.  Emerson,  a  certain  fanciful 
interpretation  of  her  own  sometimes  took  the 
place  of  a  just  estimate  of  artistic  values.  Yet 
he  found  her  opinion  worthy  of  attention,  as 
evincing  her  real  love  of  beautiful  things,  and 
her  great  desire  to  understand  the  high  signifi 
cance  of  art.  He  makes  some  quotations  from 
her  notes  on  the  Athenaeum  Gallery  of  sculpture 
in  1840. 

Here  she  finds  marble  busts  of  Byron  and  Na 
poleon.  The  first,  with  all  its  beauty,  appears  to 
her  "  sultry,  stern,  all-craving,  all-commanding," 
and  expressive  of  something  which  accounts  for 
what  she  calls  "  the  grand  failure  of  his  scheme 
of  existence."  The  head  of  Napoleon  is,  she 
says,  not  only  stern  but  ruthless.  "  Yet  this 
ruthlessness  excites  no  aversion.  The  artist 
has  caught  its  true  character,  and  given  us  here 
the  Attila,  the  instrument  of  fate  to  serve  a 
purpose  not  his  own."  She  groups  the  poet  and 


46  MARGARET  FULLER. 

the  warrior  together  as  having,  "  the  one  in  let 
ters,  the  other  in  arms,  represented  more  fully 
than  any  other  the  tendency  of  their  time ; 
[they]  more  than  any  other  gave  it  a  chance 
for  reaction."  Near  these  she  finds  a  head  of 
the  poet  Ennius,  and  busts  also  of  Edward 
Everett,  Washington  Allston,  and  Daniel  Web 
ster.  Her  comment  upon  this  juxtaposition  is 
interesting. 

"  Yet  even  near  the  Ennius  and  Napoleon 
our  American  men  look  worthy  to  be  perpet 
uated  in  marble  or  bronze,  if  it  were  only  for 
their  air  of  calm,  unpretending  sagacity." 

Mr.  Henry  James,  Jr.,  writing  of  Nathaniel 
Hawthorne,  speaks  of  the  Massachusetts  of 
forty  or  more  years  ago  as  poor  in  its  aesthetic 
resources.  Works  of  art  indeed  were  then  few 
in  number,  and  decorative  industry,  in  its  pres 
ent  extent,  was  not  dreamed  of.  But  in  the 
intellectual  form  of  appreciative  criticism  the 
Boston  of  that  day  was  richer  than  the  city  of 
our  own  time.  The  first  stage  of  culture  is 
cultivation,  and  the  art  lovers  of  that  day  had 
sowed  the  seed  of  careful  study,  and  were  intent 
upon  its  growth  and  ripening.  If  possession  is 
nine  points  of  the  law,  as  it  is  acknowledged 
to  be,  the  knowledge  of  values  may  be  said  to 
be  nine  points  of  possession,  and  Margaret  and 
her  friends,  with  their  knowledge  of  the  import 


BELIEF  IN  HER   OWN  POWER.          47 

of  art,  and  with  their  trained  and  careful  obser 
vation  of  its  outward  forms,  had  a  richer  feast  in 
the  casts  and  engravings  of  that  time  than  can 
be  enjoyed  to-day  by  the  amateur,  who,  with  a 
bric-a-brac  taste  and  blase  feeling,  haunts  the 
picture-shops  of  our  large  cities,  or  treads  the 
galleries  in  which  the  majestic  ghosts  of  earnest 
times  rebuke  his  flippant  frivolity. 

We  have  lingered  over  these  records  of  Mar 
garet's  brilliant  youth,  because  their  prophecies 
aid  us  greatly  in  the  interpretation  of  her  later 
life.  The  inspired  maiden  of  these  letters  and 
journals  is  very  unlike  the  "  Miss  Fuller"  who 
in  those  very  days  was  sometimes  quoted  as  the 
very  embodiment  of  all  that  is  ungraceful  and  un- 
feminine.  How  little  were  the  beauties  of  her 
mind,  the  graces  of  her  character,  guessed  at  or 
sought  for  by  those  who  saw  in  her  unlikeness 
to  the  popular  or  fashionable  type  of  the  time 
matter  only  for  derisive  comment ! 

It  may  not  be  unimportant  for  us  here  to  exam 
ine  a  little  the  rationale  of  Margaret's  position, 
and  inquire  whether  the  trait  which  occasioned 
so  much  animadversion  was  not  the  concomi 
tant  of  one  of  Margaret's  most  valuable  qualities. 
This  we  should  call  a  belief  in  her  own  moral 
and  intellectual  power,  which  impelled  her  to 
examine  and  decide  all  questions  for  herself,  and 
which  enabled  her  to  accomplish  many  a  brave 


48  MARGARET  FULLER. 

work  and  sacrifice.  This  sense  of  her  own 
power  was  answered  by  the  common  confession 
of  weakness  which  then  was,  and  still  is,  a  part 
of  the  received  creed  of  women  on  the  level  of 
good  society.  Did  not  the  prone  and  slavish 
attitude  of  these  women  appear  to  Margaret  as 
fatal  to  character  as  it  really  is  ? 

"  I  am  only  a  woman,"  was  a  remark  often 
heard  in  that  day,  as  in  this,  from  women  to 
whom  that  "  only "  was  not  to  be  permitted  ! 
Only  the  guardian  of  the  beginning  of  life,  only 
the  sharer  in  all  its  duties  and  inspirations  ? 
Culture  and  Christianity  recognized  as  much 
as  this,  but  the  doctrine  still  remained  an  ab 
stract  one,  and  equal  rights  were  scarcely  thought 
of  as  a  corollary  to  equal  duties.  Margaret  never 
saw,  though  she  foresaw,  the  awakening  and 
recognition  of  the  new  womanhood  which  is 
already  changing  the  aspect  of  civilized  society. 
An  eccentric  in  her  own  despite,  she  had  dared 
assume  her  full  height,  and  to  demand  her 
proper  place.  Her  position  was  as  exceptional 
as  was  her  genius.  From  the  isolation  of  her. 
superiority,  was  it  wonderful  that  she  should 
consider  it  more  absolute  than  it  really  was  ? 

This  exaggerated  sense  of  power  is  perhaps 
nothing  more  than  the  intensification  of  con 
sciousness  which  certain  exigencies  will  awaken 
in  those  who  meet  them  with  a  special  work  to 


REMOVAL   TO   GROT  ON.  49 

do  and  a  special  gift  to  do  it  with.  It  must  be 
remembered  that  Margaret's  self-esteem  did  not 
really  involve  any  disesteem  of  others.  She "] 
honored  in  all  their  best  traits,  and  her  only 
ground  of  quarrel  with  humanity  at  large  was 
its  derogation  from  its  own  dignity,  its  neglect^ 
of 'its  own  best  interests.  Such  a  sense  of  hu 
man  value  as  she  possessed  was  truly  a  Christian 
gift,  and  it  was  in  virtue  of  this  that  she  was 
able  to  impart  such  exhilaration  and  hopefulness 
to  those  who  were  content  to  learn  of  her. 

But  here,  in  our  chronicle,  the  early  morning 
hours  are  already  over.  The  inward  conquest 
which  was  sealed  by  the  sunbeam  of  that  "  sal 
low  "  November  day  becomes  the  prelude  to  an 
outward  struggle  with  difficulties  which  tasked 
to  the  utmost  the  strength  acquired  by  our 
neophyte  through  prayer  and  study. 

In  the  spring  of  1833  Margaret  found  herself 
obliged  to  leave  the  academic  shades  of  Cam 
bridge  for  the  country  rpfirpm^nt  of  Gn 
Her  fatnerTwearied  with  a  long  practice  of  the 
law,  had  removed  his  residence  to  the  latter 
place,  intending  to  devote  his  later  years  to  liter 
ary  labor  and  the  education  of  his  younger  chil 
dren.  To  Margaret  this  change  was  unwelcome, 
and  the  result  showed  it,  at  a  later  day,  to  have 
been  unfortunate  for  the  family.  She  did  not, 
however,  take  here  the  position  of  a  malcontent, 
4 


50  MARGARET  FULLER. 

but  that  of  one  who,  finding  herself  removed 
from  congenial  surroundings,  knows  how  to  sum 
mon  to  her  aid  the  hosts  of  noble  minds  with 
which  study  has  made  her  familiar.  Her  Ger 
man  books  go  with  her,  and  Goethe,  Schiller,  and 
Jean  Paul  solace  her  lonely  hours.  She  reads 
works  on  architecture,  and  books  of  travel  in 
Italy,  while  sympathy  with  her  father's  pursuits 
leads  her  to  interest  herself  in  American  history, 
concerning  which  he  had  collected  much  infor 
mation  with  a  view  to  historical  composition. 

We  find  her  also  engaged  in  tuition.  She  has 
four  pupils,  probably  the  younger  children  of  the 
family,  and  gives  lessons  in  three  languages  five 
days  in  the  week,  besides  teaching  geography 
and  history.  She  has  much  needlework  to  do, 
and  the  ill-health  of  her  mother  arrd  grandmother 
brings  additional  cares.  The  course  of  study 
which  she  has  marked  out  for  herself  can  only 
be  pursued,  she  says,  on  three  evenings  in  the 
week,  and  at  chance  hours  in  the  day.  It  in 
cludes  a  careful  perusal  of  Alfieri's  writings  and 
an  examination  into  the  evidences  of  the  Chris 
tian  religion.  To  this  she  is  impelled  by  "  dis 
tressing  sceptical  notions  "  of  her  own,  and  by 
the  doubts  awakened  in  her  mind  by  the  argu 
ments  of  infidels  and  of  deists,  some  of  whom  are 
numbered  among  her  friends. 

The  following  letter,  addressed  by  Margaret  to 


LETTER    TO   A    FRIEND.  51 

a  much-admired  friend,  will  give  us  some  idea 
of  the  playful  mood  which  relieved  her  days  of 
serious  application. 

"  GROTON,  1834. 
"  To  MRS.  ALMIRA  B. 

"  Are  you  not  ashamed,  O  most  friendshipless 
clergywoman  !  not  to  have  enlivened  my  long 
seclusion  by  one  line  ?  Does  the  author  of  the 
'  lecture  delivered  with  much  applause  before  the 
Brooklyn  Lyceum '  despise  and  wish  to  cast  off 
the  author  of  'essays  contumeliously  rejected  by 
that  respected  publication,  the  "  Christian  Ex 
aminer"?'  That  a  little  success  should  have 
such  power  to  steel  the  female  heart  to  base 
ingratitude  !  O  Ally !  Ally !  wilt  thou  forget 
that  it  was  I  (in  happier  hours  thou  hast  full  oft 
averred  it)  who  first  fanned  the  spark  of  thy 
ambition  into  flame  ?  Think'st  thou  that  thou 
owest  naught  to  those  long  sweeps  over  the  in 
expressive  realities  of  literature,  when  thou  wast 
obliged  to  trust  to  my  support,  thy  own  opinions 
as  yet  scarce  budding  from  thy  heels  or  shoul 
ders  ?  Dost  thou  forget  —  but  my  emotions  will 
not  permit  me  to  pursue  the  subject ;  surely  I 
must  have  jogged  your  conscience  sufficiently. 
I  shall  follow  the  instructions  of  the  great 
Goethe,  and,  having  in  some  degree  vented  my 
feelings,  address  you  as  if  you  were  what  you 
ought  to  be.  Still  remains  enveloped  in  mys- 


52  MARGARET  FULLER. 

tery  the  reason  why  neither  you  nor  my  reverend 
friend  came  to  bid  me  good-by  before  I  left 
your  city,  according  to  promise.  I  suspected 
.the  waiter  at  the  time  of  having  intercepted 
your  card  ;  but  your  long  venomous  silence  has 
obliged  me  to  acquit  him.  I  had  treasured  up 
sundry  little  anecdotes  touching  my  journey 
homeward,  which,  if  related  with  dramatic  skill, 
might  excite  a  smile  on  your  face,  O  laughter- 
loving  blue-stocking  !  I  returned  home  under 
the  protection  of  a  Mr.  Fullerton,  fresh  from 
London  and  Paris,  who  gave  me  an  entirely 
new  view  of  continental  affairs.  He  assured 
me  that  the  German  Prince1  was  an  ignorant 
pretender,  in  the  face  of  my  assurances  that 
I  had  read  and  greatly  admired  his  writings, 
and  gave  me  a  contemptuous  description  of 
Waldo  Emerson  dining  in  boots  at  Timothy 
Wiggin's,  absolument  a  faire  mourir  !  All  his 
sayings  were  exquisite.  And  then  a  sui  generis 
mother  whom  I  met  with  on  board  the  steamboat. 
All  my  pretty  pictures  are  blotted  out  by  the 
rude  hand  of  Time  :  verily  this  checking  of  speech 
is  dangerous.  If  all  the  matter  I  have  been  pre 
serving  for  various  persons  is  in  my  head,  packed 
away,  distributed  among  the  various  organs,  how 
immensely  will  my  head  be  developed  when  I 
return  to  the  world.  This  is  the  first  time  in  my 

1  Plickler-Muskau. 


LETTER    TO  A   FRIEND.  53 

life  that  I  have  known  what  it  is  to  have  nobody 
to  speak  to,  cest  a  dire,  of  my  own  peculiar  little 
fancies.  I  bear  it  with  strange  philosophy,  but 
I  do  wish  to  be  written  to.  I  will  tell  you  how  I 
pass  my  time  without  society  or  exercise.  Even 
till  two  o'clock,  sometimes  later,  I  pour  ideas 
into  the  heads  of  the  little  Fullers ;  much  runs 
out  —  indeed,  I  am  often  reminded  of  the  chapter 
on  home  education,  in  the  '  New  Monthly.'  But 
the  few  drops  which  remain  mightily  gladden 
the  sight  of  my  father.  Then  I  go  down-stairs 
and  ask  for  my  letters  from  the  post ;  this  is  my 
only  pleasure,  according  to  the  ideas  most  peo 
ple  entertain  of  pleasure.  Do  you  write  me  an 
excellent  epistle  by  return  of  mail,  or  I  will  make 
your  head  ache  by  a  minute  account  of  the  way 
in  which  the  remaining  hours  are  spent.  I  have 
only  lately  read  the  '  Female  Sovereigns '  of 
your  beloved  Mrs.  Jameson,  and  like  them  better 
than  any  of  her  works.  Her  opinions  are  clearly 
expressed,  sufficiently  discriminating,  and  her 
manner  unusually  simple.  I  was  not  dazzled  by 
excess  of  artificial  light,  nor  cloyed  by  spiced 
and  sweetened  sentiments.  My  love  to  your 
revered  husband,  and  four  kisses  to  Edward,  two 
on  your  account,  one  for  his  beauty,  and  one 
abstract  kiss,  symbol  of  my  love  for  all  little 
children  in  general.  Write  of  him,  of  Mr.  -  — 's 
sermons,  of  your  likes  and  dislikes,  of  any  new 


54  MARGARET  FULLER. 

characters,  sublime  or  droll,  you  may  have  un 
earthed,  and  of  all  other  things  I  should  like. 

"  Affectionately  your  country  friend,  poor  and 
humble 

"  MARGARET." 

In  the  summer  of  1835  a  great  pleasure  and 
refreshment  came  to  Margaret  in  the  acquaint 
ance  of  Miss  Martineau,  whom  she  met  while 
on  a  visit  to  her  friend,  Mrs.  Farrar,  in  Cam 
bridge.  In  speaking  of  this  first  meeting  Mar 
garet  says :  "  I  wished  to  give  myself  wholly 
up  to  receive  an  impression  of  her.  .  .  .  What 
shrewdness  in  detecting  various  shades  of  char 
acter !  Yet  what  she  said  of  Hannah  More 
and  Miss  Edgeworth  grated  upon  my  feelings." 
In  a  later  conversation  "  the  barrier  that  sepa 
rates  acquaintance  from  friendship"  was  passed, 
and  Margaret  felt,  beneath  the  sharpness  of  her 
companion's  criticism,  the  presence  of  a  truly 
human  heart. 

The  two  ladies  went  to  church  together,  and 
the  minister  prayed  "  for  our  friends."  Margaret 
was  moved  by  this  to  offer  a  special  prayer  for 
Miss  Martineau,  which  so  impressed  itself  upon 
her  mind  that  she  was  able  to  write  it  down. 
We  quote  the  part  of  it  which  most  particularly 
refers  to  her  new  friend  :  — 

"  May  her  path  be  guarded  and  blessed.    May 


HARRIET  MARTINEAU.  55 

her  noble  mind  be  kept  firmly  poised  in  its  na 
tive  truth,  unsullied  by  prejudice  or  error,  and 
strong  to  resist  whatever  outwardly  or  inwardly 
shall  war  against  its  high  vocation.  May  each 
day  bring  to  this  generous  seeker  new  riches 
of  true  philosophy  and  of  Divine  love.  And, 
amidst  all  trials,  give  her  to  know  and  feel  that 
thou,  the  All-sufficing,  art  with  her,  leading  her 
on  through  eternity  to  likeness  of  thyself." 

The  change  of  base  which,  years  after  this 
time,  transformed  Miss  Martineau  into  an  en 
thusiastic  disbeliever  would  certainly  not  have 
seemed  to  Margaret  an  answer  to  her  prayer. 
But  as  the  doctrine  that  "God  reveals  himself 
in  many  ways  "  was  not  new  to  her,  and  as  her 
petition  includes  the  Eternities,  we  may  believe 
that  she  appreciated  the  sincerity  of  her  friend's 
negations,  and  anticipated  for  her,  as  for  herself, 
a  later  vision  of  the  Celestial  City,  whose  bright 
ness  should  rise  victorious  above  the  mists  of 
speculative  doubt. 

A  serious  illness  intervened  at  this  time, 
brought  on,  one  might  think,  by  the  intense 
action  of  Margaret's  brain,  stimulated  by  her 
manifold  and  unremitting  labors.  For  nine 
days  and  nights  she  suffered  from  fever,  accom 
panied  by  agonizing  pain  in  her  head.  Her  be 
loved  mother  was  at  her  bedside  day  and  night. 
Her  father,  usually  so  reserved  in  expressions 


56  MARGARET  FULLER. 

of  affection,  was  moved  by  the  near  prospect  of 
her  death  to  say  to  her  :  "  My  dear,  I  have  been 
thinking  of  you  in  the  night,  and  I  cannot  re 
member  that  you  have  any  faults.  You  have 
defects,  of  course,  as  all  mortals  have,  but  I  do 
not  know  that  you  have  a  single  fault."  These 
words  were  intended  by  him  as  a  viaticum  for 
her,  but  they  were  really  to  be  a  legacy  of  love 
to  his  favorite  child. 

Margaret  herself  anticipated  death  with  calm 
ness,  and,  in  view  of  the  struggles  and  disap 
pointments  of  life,  with  willingness.  But  the 
threatened  bolt  was  to  fall  upon  a  head  dearer 
to  her  than  her  own.  In  the  early  autumn  of 
the  same  year  her  father,  after  a  two  days'  ill 
ness,  fell  a  victim  to  cholera. 

Margaret's  record  of  the  grief  which  this 
affliction  brought  her  is  very  deep  and  tender. 
Her  father's  image  was  ever  present  to  her,  and 
seemed  even  to  follow  her  to  her  room,  and  to 
look  in  upon  her  there.  Her  most  poignant 
sorrow  was  in  the  thought,  suggested  to  many 
by  similar  afflictions,  that  she  might  have  kept 
herself  nearer  to  him  in  sympathy  and  in  duty. 
The  altered  circumstances  of  the  family,  indeed, 
soon  aroused  her  to  new  activities.  Mr.  Fuller 
had  left  no  will,  and  had  somewhat  diminished 
his  property  by  unproductive  investments.  Mar 
garet  now  found  new  reason  to  wish  that  she 


DEATH  OF  MR.   FULLER.  $? 

belonged  to  the  sterner  sex,  since,  had  she 
been  eldest  son  instead  of  eldest  daughter,  she 
might  have  become  the  administrator  of  her 
father's  estate  and  the  guardian  of  her  sister 
and.  brothers.  She  regretted  her  ignorance  of 
such  details  of  business  as  are  involved  in  the 
care  of  property,  and  determined  to  acquaint 
herself  with  them,  reflecting  that  "  the  same 
mind  which  has  made  other  attainments  can  in 
time  compass  these."  In  this  hour  of  trial  she 
seeks  and  finds  relief  and  support  in  prayer. 

"  May  God  enable  me  to  see  the  way  clear, 
and  not  to  let  down  the  intellectual  in  raising 
the  moral  tone  of  my  mind.  Difficulties  and 
duties  became  distinct  the  very  night  after  my 
father's  death,  and  a  solemn  prayer  was  offered 
then  that  I  might  combine  what  is  due  to  others 
with  what  is  due  to  myself.  The  spirit  of  that 
prayer  I  shall  constantly  endeavor  to  maintain." 

This  death,  besides  the  sorrow  and  perplexity 
which  followed  it,  brought  to  Margaret  a  disap 
pointment  which  seemed  to  her  to  bar  the  fulfil 
ment  of  her  highest  hopes.  She  had  for  two 
years  been  contemplating  a  visit  to  Europe,  with 
a  view  to  the  better  prosecution  of  her  studies. 
She  had  earned  the  right  to  this  indulgence 
beforehand,  by  assisting  in  the  education  of  the 
younger  children  of  the  family.  An  opportunity 
now  offered  itself  of  making  this  journey  under 


58  MARGARET  FULLER. 

the  most  auspicious  circumstances.  Her  friends, 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Farrar,  were  about  to  cross  the 
ocean,  and  had  invited  her  to  accompany  them. 
Miss  Martineau  was  to  be  of  the  party,  and  Mar 
garet  now  saw  before  her,  not  only  this  beloved 
companionship,  but  also  the  open  door  which 
would  give  her  an  easy  access  to  literary  society 
in  England,  and  to  the  atmosphere  of  old-world 
culture  which  she  so  passionately  longed  to 
breathe. 

With  this  brilliant  vision  before  her,  and  with 
her  whole  literary  future  trembling,  as  she 
thought,  in  the  scale,  Margaret  prayed  only 
that  she  might  make  the  right  decision.  This 
soon  became  clear  to  her,  and  she  determined, 
in  spite  of  the  entreaties  of  her  family,  to  remain 
with  her  careworn  mother,  and  not  to  risk  the 
possibility  of  encroaching  upon  the  fund  neces 
sary  for  the  education  of  her  brothers  and 
sister. 

Of  all  the  crownings  of  Margaret's  life,  shall 
we  not  most  envy  her  that  of  this  act  of  sacri 
fice  ?  So  near  to  the  feast  of  the  gods,  she  pre 
fers  the  fast  of  duty,  and  recognizes  the  claims 
of  family  affection  as  more  imperative  than  the 
gratification  of  any  personal  taste  or  ambition. 

Margaret  does  not  seem  to  have  been  sup 
ported  in  this  trial  by  any  sense  of  its  heroism. 
Her  decision  was  to  her  simply  a  following  of 


DEVOTION   TO  HER   FAMILY.  59 

the  right,  in  which  she  must  be  content,  as  she 
says,  to  forget  herself  and  act  for  the  sake  of 
others. 

We  may  all  be  glad  to  remember  this  exam 
ple',  and  to  refer  to  it  those  who  find  themselves 
in  a  maze  of  doubt  between  what  they  owe  to 
the  cultivation  of  their  own  gifts,  what  to  the 
need  and  advantage  of  those  to  whom  they 
stand  in  near  relation.  Had  Margaret  at  this 
time  forsaken  her  darkened  household,  the  dif' 
ference  to  its  members  would  have  been  very 
great,  and  she  herself  would  have  added  to  the 
number  of  those  doubting  or  mistaken  souls  who 
have  been  carried  far  from  the  scene  of  their 
true  and  appointed  service  by  some  dream  of 
distinction  never  to  be  fulfilled.  In  the  sequel 
she  was  not  only  justified,  but  rewarded.  The 
sacrifice  she  had  made  secured  the  blessings  of 
education  to  the  younger  members  of  her  family. 
Her  prayer  that  the  lifting  of  her  moral  nature 
might  not  lower  the  tone  of  her  intellect  was 
answered,  as  it  was  sure  to  be,  and  she  found 
near  at  hand  a  field  of  honor  and  usefulness 
which  the  brilliant  capitals  of  Europe  would 
not  have  offered  her. 

Margaret's  remaining  days  in  Groton  were 
passed  in  assiduous  reading,  and  her  letters  and 
journals  make  suggestive  comments  on  Goethe, 


60  MARGARET  FULLER. 

Shelley,  Sir  James  Mackintosh,  Herschel,  Words 
worth,  and  others.  Her  scheme  of  culture  was 
what  we  should  now  call  encyclopedic,  and  em 
braced  most,  if  not  all,  departments  of  human 
knowledge.  If  she  was  at  all  mistaken  in  her 
scope,  it  was  in  this,  that  she  did  not  suffi 
ciently  appreciate  the  inevitable  '  limitations  of 
brain  power  and  of  bodily  strength.  Her  im 
patience  of  such  considerations  led  her  to  an 
habitual  over-use  of  her  brilliant  faculties  which 
resulted  in  an  impaired  state  of  health. 

In  the  autumn  of  1836  Margaret  left  Groton, 
"not  without  acknowledgment  of  "  many  precious 
lessons  given  there  in  faith,  fortitude,  self-com 
mand,  and  unselfish  love. 

"  There,  too,  in  solitude,  the  mind  acquired 
more  power  of  concentration,  and  discerned 
the  beauty  of  strict  method  ;  there,  too,  more 
than  all,  the  heart  was  awakened  to  sympathize 
with  the  ignorant,  to  pity  the  vulgar,  to  hope  for 
the  seemingly  worthless,  and  to  commune  with 
the  Divine  Spirit  of  Creation." 


CHAPTER  V. 

WINTER  IN  BOSTON.  —  A  SEASON  OF  SEVERE  LABOR. 
—  CONNECTION  WITH  GREENE  STREET  SCHOOL, 
PROVIDENCE,  R.  I.  EDITORSHIP  OF  THE  "  DIAL." 


MARGARET'S  removal  was  to  Boston,  where  a 
twofold  labor  was  before  her.  She  was  engaged 
to  teach  Latin  and  French  in  Mr.  Alcott's  school, 
then  at  the  height  of  its  prosperity,  and  intended 
also  to  form  classes  of  young  ladies  who  should 
study  with  her  French,  German,  and  Italian. 

Mr.  Alcott's  educational  theories  did  not  alto 
gether  commend  themselves  to  Margaret's  judg 
ment  They  had  in  them,  indeed,  the  germ  of 
much  that  is  to-day  recognized  as  true  and  im 
portant.  But  Margaret  considered  him  to  be 
too  much  possessed  with  the  idea  of  the  unity 
of  knowledge,  too  little  aware  of  the  complexi 
ties  of  instruction. 

He,  on  the  other  hand,  describes  her  "  as  a  per 
son  clearly  given  to  the  boldest  speculation,  and 
of  liberal  and  varied  acquirements.  Not  want 
ing  in  imaginative  power,  she  has  the  rarest 
good  sense  and  discretion.  The  blending  of 


62  MARGARET  FULLER. 

sentiment  and  of  wisdom  in  her  is  most  re 
markable,  and  her  taste  is  as  fine  as  her  pru 
dence.  I  think  her  the  most  brilliant  talker  of 
her  day." 

Margaret  now  passed  through  twenty-five 
weeks  of  incessant  labor,  suffering  the  while 
from  her  head,  which  she  calls  "  a  bad  head," 
but  which  we  should  consider  a  most  abused 
one.  Her  retrospect  of  this  period  of  toil  is 
interesting,  and  with  its  severity  she  remem 
bers  also  its  value  to  her.  Meeting  with  many 
disappointments  at  the  outset,  and  feeling  pain 
fully  the  new  circumstances  which  obliged  her 
to  make  merchandise  of  her  gifts  and  acquire 
ments,  she  yet  says  that  she  rejoices  over  it  all, 
"  and  would  not  have  undertaken  an  iota  less." 
Besides  fulfilling  her  intention  of  self-support, 
she  feels  "that  she  has  gained  in  the  power  of 
attention,  in  self-command,  and  in  the  knowl 
edge  of  methods  of  instruction,  without  in  the 
least  losing  sight  of  the  aims  which  had  made 
hitherto  the  happiness  and  enthusiasm  of  her 
life. 

Here  is,  in  brief,  the  tale  of  her  winter's  work. 

To  one  class  she  gave  elementary  instruction 
in  German,  and  that  so  efficiently  that  her  pupils 
were  able  to  read  the  language  with  ease  at  the 
end  of  three  months.  With  another  class  she  read, 
in  twenty-four  weeks,  Schiller's  "  Don  Carlos," 


SEVERE  LABOR.  63 

"  Artists,"  and  "  Song  of  the  Bell  ; "  Goethe's 
"  Herrman  und  Dorothea,"  "  Gotz  von  Berlich- 
ingen,"  "  Iphigenia,"  first  part  of  "  Faust,"  and 
"Clavigo;"  Lessing's  "Nathan  der  Weise," 
"Minna,"  and  "Emilia  Galotti  ;"  parts  of 
Tieck's  "  Phantasus,"  and  nearly  all  of  the  first 
volume  of  Richter's  "  Titan." 

With  the  Italian  class  she  read  parts  of  Tasso, 
Petrarch,  Ariosto,  Alfieri,  and  the  whole  hun 
dred  cantos  of  Dante's  "  Divina  Commedia." 
Besides  these  classes  she  had  also  three  private 
pupils,  one  of  them  a  boy  unable  to  use  his  eyes 
in  study.  She  gave  this  child  oral  instruction 
in  Latin,  and  read  to  him  the  History  of  Eng 
land  and  Shakespeare's  plays  in  connection. 
"The  lessons  given  by  her  in  Mr.  Alcott's  school 
were,  she  says,  valuable  to  her,  but  also  very 
fatiguing. 

Though  already  so  much  overtasked,  Margaret 
found  time  and  strength  to  devote  one  evening 
every  week  to  the  viva  voce  translation  of  Ger 
man  authors  for  Dr.  Channing's  benefit,  reading 
to  him  mostly  from  De  Wette  and  Herder. 
Much  conversation  accompanied  these  readings, 
and  Margaret  confesses  that  she  finds  therein 
much  food  for  thought,  while  the  Doctor's  judg 
ments  appear  to  her  deliberate,  and  his  sym 
pathies  somewhat  slow.  She  speaks  of  him  as 
entirely  without  any  assumption  of  superiority 


64  MARGARET  FULLER. 

towards  her,  and  as  trusting  "  to  the  elevation  of 
his  thoughts  to  keep  him  in  his  place."  She 
also  greatly  enjoyed  his  preaching,  the  force  and 
earnestness  of  which  seemed  to  her  "  to  purge 
as  by  fire." 

If  Margaret  was  able  to  review  her  winter's 
work  with  pleasure,  we  must  regard  it  with 
mingled  wonder  and  dismay.  The  range  and 
extent  of  her  labors  were  indeed  admirable, 
combining  such  extremes  as  enabled  her  to 
minister  to  the  needs  of  the  children  in  Mr. 
Alcott's  school,  and  to  assist  the  studies  of  the 
most  eminent  divine  of  the  day.  If  we  look 
only  at  her  classes  in  literature,  we  shall  find 
it  wonderful  that  a  woman  of  twenty-six  should 
have  been  able  to  give  available  instruction  in 
directions  so  many  and  various. 

On  the  other  hand,  we  must  think  that  the 
immense  extent  of  ground  gone  over  involved 
too  rapid  a  study  of  the  separate  works  com 
prised  in  it.  Here  was  given  a  synopsis  of  lit 
erary  work  which,  properly  performed,  would 
fill  a  lifetime.  It  was  no  doubt  valuable  to  her 
pupils  through  the  vivifying  influence  of  her 
enthusiastic  imagination,  which  may  have  en 
abled  some  of  them,  in  after  years,  to  fill  out 
the  sketch  of  culture  so  boldly  and  broadly 
drawn  before  their  eyes.  Yet,  considered  as 
instruction,  it  must,  from  its  very  extent,  have 
been  somewhat  superficial. 


GREENE  STREET  SCHOOL.  65 

Our  dismay  would  regard  the  remorseless 
degree  in  which  Margaret,  at  this  time,  must 
have  encroached  upon  the  reserves  of  her  bodily 
strength.  Some  physicists  of  to-day  ascribe  to 
women  a  peculiar  power  of  concentrating  upon 
one  short  effort  an  amount  of  vital  force  which 
should  carry  them  through  long  years,  and  which, 
once  expended,  cannot  be  restored.  Margaret's 
case  would  certainly  justify  this  view  ;  for,  while 
a  mind  so  vigorous  necessarily  presupposes  a 
body  of  uncommon  vigor,  she  was  after  this  time 
always  a  sufferer,  and  never  enjoyed  that  perfect 
equipoise  of  function  and  of  power  which  we  call 
health. 

In  the  spring  of  the  year  1837  Margaret  was 
invited  to  fill  an  important  post  in  the  Greene 
Street  School,  at  Providence,  R.  I.  It  was  pro 
posed  that  she  should  teach  the  elder  girls  four 
hours  daily,  arranging  studies  and  courses  at  her 
own  discretion,  and  receiving  a  salary  of  one 
thousand  dollars  per  annum. 

Margaret  hesitated  to  accept  this  offer,  feel 
ing  inclined  rather  to  renew  her  classes  of  the 
year  just  past,  and  having  in  mind  also  a  life 
of  Goethe  which  she  greatly  desired  to  write, 
and  for  which  she  was  already  collecting  mate 
rial.  In  the  end,  however,  the  prospect  of  im 
mediate  independence  carried  the  day,  and  she 

5 


66  MARGARET  FULLER. 

became  the  "  Lady  Superior,"  as  she  styles  it, 
of  the  Providence  school.  Here  a  nearer  view 
of  the  great  need  of  her  services  stimulated  her 
generous  efforts,  and  she  was  rewarded  by  the 
love  and  reverence  of  her  pupils,  and  by  the 
knowledge  that  she  did  indeed  bring  them  an 
awakening  which  led  them  from  inert  ignorance 
to  earnest  endeavor. 

Margaret's  record  of  her  stay  in  Providence  is 
enlivened  by  portraits  of  some  of  the  men  of 
mark  who  came  within  her  ken.  Among  these 
was  Tristam  Burgess,  already  old,  whose  bald 
ness,  she  says,  "increases  the  fine  effect  of  his 
appearance,  for  it  seems  as  if  the  locks  had  re 
treated  that  the  contour  of  his  strongly  marked 
head  might  be  revealed."  The  eminent  law 
yer,  Whipple,  is  not,  she  says,  a  man  of  the 
Webster  class  ;  but  is,  in  her  eyes,  first  among 
men  of  the  class  immediately  below,  and  wears 
"a  pervading  air  of  ease  and  mastery  which 
shows  him  fit  to  be  a  leader  of  the  flock."  John 
Neal,  of  Portland,  speaks  to  her  girls  on  the 
destiny  and  vocation  of  woman  in  America,  and 
in  private  has  a  long  talk  with  her  concern 
ing  woman,  whigism,  modern  English  poets, 
Shakespeare,  and  particularly  "  Richard  the 
Third,"  concerning  which  play  the  two  "actually 
had  a  fight."  "  Mr.  Neal,"  she  says,  "  does  not 
argue  quite  fairly,  for  he  uses  reason  while  it 


DISTINGUISHED  MEN.  67 

lasts,  and  then  helps  himself  out  with  wit,  senti 
ment,  and  assertion."  She  hears  a  discourse  and 
prayer  from  Joseph  John  Gurney,  of  England, 
in  whose  matter  and  manner  she  finds  herself 
grievously  disappointed  :  "  Quakerism  has  at 
times  looked  lovely  to  me,  and  I  had  expected 
at  least  a  spiritual  exposition  of  its  doctrines 
from  the  brother  of  Mrs.  Fry.  But  his  manner 
was  as  wooden  as  his  matter.  His  figures  were 
paltry,  his  thoughts  narrowed  down,  and  his 
very  sincerity  made  corrupt  by  spiritual  pride. 
The  poet,  Richard  H.  Dana,  in  those  days  gave 
a  course  of  readings  from  the  English  drama 
tists,  beginning  with  Shakespeare.  Margaret 
writes  :  — 

"  The  introductory  was  beautiful.  .  .  .  All 
this  was  arrayed  in  a  garb  of  most  delicate 
grace  ;  but  a  man  of  such  genuine  refinement 
undervalues  the  cannon- blasts  and  rockets  which 
are  needed  to  rouse  the  attention  of  the  vulgar. 
His  naive  gestures,  the  rapt  expression  of  his 
face,  his  introverted  eye,  and  the  almost  childlike 
simplicity  of  his  pathos  carry  one  back  into 
a  purer  atmosphere,  to  live  over  again  youth's 
fresh  emotions."  Her  resume  of  him  ends  with 
these  words  :  "Mr.  Dana  has  the  charms  and  the 
defects  of  one  whose  object  in  life  has  been  to 
preserve  his  individuality  unprofaned." 

Margaret's  connection  with  the  Greene  Street 


68  MARGARET  FULLER. 

School  in  Providence  lasted  two  years.  Her  suc 
cess  in  this  work  was  considered  very  great,  and 
her  brief  residence  in  Rhode  Island  was  crowned 
with  public  esteem  and  with  many  valued  friend 
ships. 

Her  parting  from  the  pupils  here  was  not  with 
out  tears  on  both  sides.  Although  engaged  to 
teach  the  elder  girls,  Margaret's  care  had  ex 
tended  over  the  younger  ones,  and  also  over 
some  of  the  boys.  With  all  she  exchanged  an 
affectionate  farewell,  in  which  words  of  advice 
were  mingled.  To  the  class  of  girls  which  had 
been  her  especial  charge  she  made  a  farewell 
address  whose  impressive  sentences  must  have 
been  long  remembered.  Here  are  some  of 
them  :  — 

"  I  reminded  them  of  the  ignorance  in  which 
some  of  them  had  been  found,  and  showed  them 
how  all  my  efforts  had  necessarily  been  directed 
to  stimulating  their  minds,  leaving  undone  much 
which,  under  other  circumstances,  would  have 
been  deemed  indispensable.  I  thanked  them 
for  the  moral  beauty  of  their  conduct,  bore  wit 
ness  that  an  appeal  to  conscience  had  never 
failed,  and  told  them  of  my  happiness  in  having 
the  faith  thus  confirmed  that  young  persons 
can  be  best  guided  by  addressing  their  highest 
nature.  I  assured  them  of  my  true  friendship, 
proved  by  my  never  having  cajoled  or  caressed 


MISS  MARTINS  A  U'S  BOOK.  69 

them  into  good.  All  my  influence  over  them 
was  rooted  in  reality  ;  I  had  never  softened  nor 
palliated  their  faults.  I  had  appealed,  not  to 
their  weakness,  but  to  their  strength.  I  had 
offered  to  them  always  the  loftiest  motives,  and 
had  made  every  other  end  subservient  to  that 
of  spiritual  growth.  With  a  heart-felt  blessing 
I  dismissed  them." 

In  those  days  appeared  Miss  Martineau's  book 
on  America,  of  which  we  may  say  that  its 
sharply  critical  tone  stirred  the  national  con 
sciousness,  and  brought  freshly  into  considera 
tion  the  question  of  negro  slavery,  the  discussion 
of  which  had  been  by  common  consent  banished 
from  "  good  "  society  in  the  United  States.  Miss 
Martineau  dared  to  reprobate  this  institution 
in  uncompromising  language,  and,  while  show 
ing  much  appreciation  of  the  natural  beauties  of 
the  country,  was  generally  thought  to  have  done 
injustice  to  its  moral  and  social  characteristics. 

While  Margaret  regarded  with  indignation  the 
angry  abuse  with  which  her  friend's  book  was 
greeted  on  this  side  of  the  Atlantic,  she  felt 
obliged  to  express  to  her  the  disappointment 
which  she  herself  had  felt  on  reading  it.  She 
acknowledges  that  the  work  has  been  "  garbled, 
misrepresented,  scandalously  ill-treated."  Yet 
she  speaks  of  herself  as  one  of  those  who,  see- 


70  MARGARET  FULLER. 

ing  in  the  book  "a  degree  of  presumptuousness, 
irreverence,  inaccuracy,  hasty  generalization,  and 
ultraism  on  many  points  which  they  did  not 
expect,  lament  the  haste  in  which  you  have  writ 
ten,  and  the  injustice  which  you  have  conse 
quently  done  to  so  important  a  task,  and  to  your 
own  powers  of  being  and  doing." 

Among  other  grievances,  Margaret  especially 
felt  the  manner  in  which  Miss  Martineau  had 
written  about  Mr.  Alcott.  This  she  could  not 
pass  over  without  comment  :  "A  true  and  noble 
man  ;  a  philanthropist,  whom  a  true  and  noble 
woman,  also  a  philanthropist,  should  have  de 
lighted  to  honor  ;  a  philosopher,  worthy  the 
palmy  times  of  ancient  Greece  ;  a  man  whom 
the  worldlings  of  Boston  hold  in  as  much  horror 
as  the  worldlings  of  ancient  Athens  did  Socrates. 
They  smile  to  hear  their  verdict  confirmed  from 
the  other  side  of  the  Atlantic  by  their  censor, 
Harriet  Martineau." 

Margaret  expresses  in  this  letter  the  fear  lest 
the  frankness  of  her  strictures  should  deprive  her 
of  the  regard  of  her  friend,  but  says,  "If  your 
heart  turns  from  me,  I  shall  still  love  you,  still 
think  you  noble." 

In  1840  Margaret  was  solicited  to  become  the 
editor  of  the  "  Dial,"  and  undertook,  for  two 
years,  the  management  of  the  magazine,  which 


EDITORSHIP   OF   THE   "DIAL."  /I 

was  at  this  time  considered  as  the  organ  of  the 
Transcendentalists.  The  "  Dial "  was  a  quarterly 
publication,  somewhat  nebulous  in  its  character, 
but  valuable  as  the  expression  of  fresh  thought, 
stimulating  to  culture- of  a  new  order.  Like  the 
transcendental  movement  itself,  it  had  in  it 
the  germs  of  influences  which  in  the  course  of  the 
last  forty  years  have  come  to  be  widely  felt  and 
greatly  prized.  In  the  newness  of  its  birth  and 
origin,  it  needed  nursing  fathers  and  nursing 
mothers,  but  was  fed  mostly,  so  far  as  concerns 
the  general  public,  with  neglect  and  ridicule. 

Margaret,  besides  laboring  with  great  dili 
gence  in  her  editorship,  contributed  to  its  pages 
many  papers  on  her  favorite  points  of  study, 
such  as  Goethe,  Beethoven,  Romaic  poetry,  John 
Stirling,  etc.  Of  the  "  Dial,"  Mr.  Emerson  saysA 
"  Good  or  bad,  it  cost  a  good  deal  of  precious 
labor  from  those  who  served  it,  and  from  Mar-/ 
garet  most  of  all."  As  there  were  no  funds  be 
hind  the  enterprise,  contributors  were  not  paid 
for  their  work,  and  Margaret's  modest  salary  of 
two  hundred  dollars  per  annum  was  discon 
tinued  after  the  first  year. 

The  magazine  lived  four  years.  In  England 
and  Scotland  it  achieved  a  succes  d'estime,  and 
a  republication  of  it  in  these  days  is  about  to 
make  tardy  amends  for  the  general  indifference 
which  allowed  its  career  to  terminate  so  briefly. 


72  MARGARET  FULLER. 

Copies  of  the  original  work,  now  a  literary 
curiosity,  can  here  and  there  be  borrowed  from 
individuals  who  have  grown  old  in  the  service 
of  human  progress.  A  look  into  the  carefully 
preserved  volumes  shows  us  the  changes  which 
time  has  wrought  in  the  four  decades  of  years 
which  have  elapsed  (quite  or  nearly)  since  the 
appearance  of  the  last  number. 

A  melancholy  touches  us  as  we  glance  hither 
and  thither  among  its  pages.  How  bright  are 
the  morning  hours  marked  on  this  Dial !  How 
merged  now  in  the  evening  twilight  and  dark 
ness-!  Here  is  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson,  with 
life's  meridian  still  before  him.  Here  are  printed 
some  of  his  earliest  lectures  and  some  of  the 
most  admired  of  his  poems.  Here  are  the  grace 
ful  verses  of  Christopher  P.  Cranch,  artist  and 
poet.  Here  are  the  Channing  cousins,  nephews 
of  the  great  man  by  different  brothers,  one,  Wil- 
~^>  Ham  Henry  Channing,  then,  as  always,  fervid 
^nd  unrelinquishing  in  faith  ;  the  other,  William 
Ellery,  a  questioner  who,  not  finding  himself 
answered  to  his  mind,  has  ceased  to  ask.  Here 
is  Theodore  Parker,  a  youthful  critic  of  existing 
methods  and  traditions,  already  familiar  with  the 
sacred  writings  of  many  religions.  A.  Bronson 
Alcott  appears  in  various  forms,  contributing 
"  Days  from  a  Diary,"  "  Orphic  Sayings,"  and  so 
on.  Here  are,  from  various  authors,  papers  en- 


EDITORSHIP    OF   THE   "DIAL."  73 

titled:  "Social  Tendencies,"  "The  Interior  or 
Hidden  Life,"  "  The  Pharisees,"  "  Prophecy,  Tran 
scendentalism,  and  Progress,"  "  Leaves  from  a 
Scholar's  Journal,"  "Ethnic  Scriptures,"  "The 
Preaching  of  Buddha,"  "Out-World  and  In- 
World,"  -  —  headings  which  themselves  afford  an 
insight  into  the  direction  of  the  speculative 
thought  and  fancy  of  the  time.  An  article  on 
the  Hollis  Street  Council  presents  to  us  the 
long-forgotten  controversy  between  Rev.  John 
Pierpont  and  his  congregation,  to  settle  which  a 
conference  of  the  Unitarian  clergy  was  sum 
moned.  Another,  entitled  "  Chardon  Street  and 
Bible  Conventions,"  records  the  coming  to 
gether  of  a  company  of  "  madmen,  mad  women, 
men  with  beards,  Bunkers,  Muggletonians, 
Come-outers,  Groaners,  Agrarians,  Seventh-day 
Baptists,  Quakers,  Abolitionists,  Calvinists,  Uni 
tarians,  and  Philosophers,"  to  discuss  church  dis 
cipline  and  the  authenticity  of  the  Bible.  Among 
those  present  were  Dr.  Channing,  Father  Tay 
lor,  Mr.  Alcott,  Mr.  Garrison,  Jones  Very,  and 
Mrs.  Maria  Weston  Chapman.  The  chronicler 
says  that  "the  assembly  was  characterized  by  the 
predominance  of  a  certain  plain,  sylvan  strength 
and  earnestness,  while  many  of  the  most  intel 
lectual  and  cultivated  persons  attended  its  coun 
cils.  Mrs.  Little  and  Mrs.  Lucy  Sessions  took  a 
pleasing  and  memorable  part  in  the  debate,  and 


74  MARGARET  FULLER. 

that  flea  of  Conventions,  Mrs.  Abigail  Folsom, 
was  but  too  ready  with  her  interminable  scroll." 
In  the  July  number  of  the  year  1842  many 
pages  are  devoted  to  a  rehearsal  of  "  the  enter 
tainments  of  the  past  winter,"  which  treats  of 
Fanny  Elssler's  dancing,  Braham's  singing,  ora 
torios,  symphony  concerts,  and  various  lectures. 
Among  these  last,  those  of  Mr.  Lyell  (afterwards 
Sir  Charles)  are  curtly  dismissed  as  "a  neat  arti 
cle,"  while  those  of  Henry  Giles  are  recognized 
as  showing  popular  talent. 

Among  Margaret's  own  contributions  to  the 
"  Dial,"  the  article  on  Goethe  and  that  entitled 
"The  Great  Lawsuit"  are  perhaps  the  most 
noteworthy.  We  shall  find  the  second  of  these 
expanded  into  the  well-known  "Woman  in  the 
Nineteenth  Century,"  of  which  mention  will  be 
made  hereafter.  The  one  first  named  seems  to 
demand  some  notice  here,  the  fine  discrimination 
of  its  criticism  showing  how  well  qualified  the 
writer  was  to  teach  the  women  of  her  day  the 
true  appreciation  of  genius,  and  to  warn  them 
from  the  idolatry  which  worships  the  faults  as 
well  as  the  merits  of  great  minds. 

From  a  lover  of  Goethe,  such  sentences  as 
the  following  were  scarcely  to  have  been  ex 
pected  :  — 

"  Pardon  him,  World,  that  he  was  too  worldly. 
Do  not  wonder,  Heart,  that  he  was  so  heartless. 


CRITICISM  OF  GOETHE.  75 

Believe,  Soul,  that  one  so  true,  as  far  as  he  went, 
must  yet  be  initiated  into  the  deeper  mysteries 
of  soul. 

"Naturally  of  a  deep  mind  and  shallow  heart, 
he  felt  the  sway  of  the  affections  enough  to  ap 
preciate  theft  working  in  other  men,  but  never 
enough  to  receive  their  inmost  regenerating  in 
fluence." 

Margaret  finds  a  decline  of  sentiment  and 
poetic  power  in  Goethe,  dating  from  his  relin- 
quishment  of  Lili. 

"After  this  period  we  find  in  him  rather  a 
wide  and  deep  wisdom  than  the  inspirations  of 
genius.  His  faith  that  all  must  issue  well  wants 
the  sweetness  of  piety  ;  and  the  God  he  mani 
fests  to  us  is  one  of  law  or  necessity  rather  than 
of  intelligent  love. 

"This  mastery  that  Goethe  prizes  seems  to 
consist  rather  in  the  skilful  use  of  means  than  in 
the  clear  manifestation  of  ends.  Yet  never  let 
him  be  confounded  with  those  who  sell  all  their 
birthright.  He  became  blind  to  the  more  gen 
erous  virtues,  the  nobler  impulses,  but  ever  in 
self-respect  was  busy  to  develop  his  nature.  He 
was  kind,  industrious,  wise,  gentlemanly,  if  *not 
manly." 

Margaret,  with  bold  and  steady  hand,  draws  a 
parallel  between  Dante's  "  Paradiso"  and  the  sec 
ond  part  of  Goethe's  "  Faust."  She  prefers  "  the 


76  MARGARET  FULLER. 

grandly  humble  reliance  of  old  Catholicism  "  to 
"the  loop-hole  redemption  of  modern  sagacity." 
Yet  she  thinks  that  Dante,  perhaps,  "  had  not  so 
hard  a  battle  to  wage  as  this  other  great  poet." 
The  fiercest  passions  she  finds  less  dangerous  to 
the  soul  than  the  cold  scepticism  of  the  under 
standing.  She  sums  up  grandly  the  spiritual 
ordeals  of  different  historical  periods  :  — 

"  The  Jewish  demon  assailed  the  man  of  Uz 
with  physical  ills,  the  Lucifer  of  the  Middle  Ages 
tempted  his  passions  ;  but  the  Mephistopheles 
of  the  eighteenth  century  bade  the  finite  strive 
to  compass  the  infinite,  and  the  intellect  attempt 
to  solve  all  the  problems  of  the  soul." 

Among  Margaret's  published  papers  on  litera 
ture  and  art  is  one  entitled  "  A  Record  of  Im 
pressions  produced  by  the  Exhibition  of  Mr. 
Allston's  Pictures  in  the  Summer  of  1839."  She 
was  moved  to  write  this,  she  says,  partly  by  the 
general  silence  of  the  press  on  a  matter  of  so 
much  import  in  the  history  of  American  art,  and 
partly  by  the  desire  to  analyze  her  own  views, 
and  to  ascertain,  if  possible,  the  reason  why,  at 
the'close  of  the  exhibition,  she  found  herself  less 
a  gainer  by  it  than  she  had  expected.  As  Mar 
garet  gave  much  time  and  thought  to  art  mat 
ters,  and  as  the  Allston  exhibition  was  really  an 
event  of  historic  interest,  some  consideration 


ALLSTON'S  PICTURES.  7/ 

of  this  paper  will  not  be  inappropriate  in  this 
place. 

Washington  Allston  was  at  that  time,  had 
long  been,  and  long  continued  to  be,  the  artist 
saint  of  Boston.  A  great  personal  prestige 
added  its  power  to  that  of  his  unquestioned 
genius. 

Beautiful  in  appearance,  as  much  a  poet  as  a 
painter,  he  really  seemed  to  belong  to  an  order 
of  beings  who  might  be  called 

"  Too  bright  and  good 
For  human  nature's  daily  food." 

He  had  flown  into  the  heart  of  Europe  when 
few  American  artists  managed  to  get  so  far.  He 
had  returned  to  live  alone  with  his  dreams,  of 
which  one  was  the  nightmare  of  a  great  paint 
ing  which  he  never  could  finish,  and  never  did. 
He  had  kept  the  vulgar  world  at  a  distance  from 
his  life  and  thought,  intent  on  coining  these  into 
a  succession  of  pictures  which  claimed  to  have 
a  mission  to  the  age.  The  series  of  female  heads 
which  are  the  most  admirable  of  his  works  ap 
peared  to  be  the  portraits  of  as  many  ideal 
women  who,  with  no  existence  elsewhere,  had  dis 
closed  themselves  to  him  at  his  dreamy  fireside 
or  in  his  haunted  studio.  The  spirit  of  the  age,  / 
in  its  highest  extreme,  was  upon  him,  and  the 
wave  of  supervital  aspiration  swept  him,  as  it  did 


78  MARGARET  FULLER. 

Channing  and  Emerson,  beyond  the  region  of  the 
visible  and  sensible.  At  that  clay,  and  for  ten 
years  later,  one  might  occasionally  have  seen  in 
some  street  of  Boston  a  fragile  figure,  and  upon 
it  a  head  distinguished  by  snowy  curls  and  starry 
eyes.  Here  was  the  winter  of  age  ;  here  the 
perpetual  summer  of  the  soul.  The  coat  and 
hat  did  not  matter ;  but  they  were  of  some 
quaint,  forgotten  fashion,  outlining  the  vision  as 
belonging  to  the  past.  You  felt  a  modesty  in 
looking  at  anythmg  so  unique  and  delicate.  I 
remember  this  vision  as  suddenly  disclosed  out 
of  a  bitter  winter's  day.  And  the  street  was 
Chestnut  Street,  and  the  figure  was  Washington 
Allston  going  to  visit  the  poet  Richard  H. 
Dana.  And  not  long  afterwards  the  silvery 
snows  melted,  and  ^the  soul  which  had  made 
those  eyes  so  luminous  shot  back  to  its  immor 
tal  sphere. 

But,  to  leave  the  man  and  return  to  the  artist. 
Mr.  Allston's  real  merit  was  too  great  to  be 
seriously  obscured  by  the  over-sweep  of  imagina 
tion  ,to  which  he  was  subject.  His  best  works 
still  remain  true  classics  of  the  canvas ;  but  the 
spirit  whiclvthrough  them,  seemed  to  pass  from 
his  mind  into  that  of  the  public,  has  not  to-day 
the  recognition  and  commanding  interest  which 
it  then  had. 

Margaret  had   expected,  as   she   says,   to  be 


ALLSTON'S  PICTURES.  79 

greatly  a  gainer  by  her  study  of  this  exhibition, 
and  had  been  somewhat  disappointed.  Possibly 
her  expectations  regarded  a  result  too  immediate 
and  definite.  Sights  and  experiences  that  en 
rich  the  mind  often  do  so  insensibly.  They  pass 
out  of  our  consciousness  ;  but  in  our  later  judg 
ments  we  find  our  standard  changed,  and  refer 
back  to  them  as  the  source  of  its  enlargement. 

Margaret  was  already  familiar  with  several  of 
the  ideal  heads  of  which  we  have  spoken,  and 
which  bore  the  names  of  Beatrice,  Rosalie,  the 
Valentine,  etc.  Of  these,  as  previously  seen  and 
studied,  she  says  :  — 

"The  calm  and  meditative  cast  of  these  pic 
tures,  the  ideal  beauty  that  shone  through  rather 
than  in  them,  and  the  harmony  of  coloring  were 
as  unlike  anything  else  I  saw,  as  the  'Vicar 
of  Wakefield'  to  Cooper's  novels.  I  seemed  to 
recognize  in  painting  that  self-possessed  ele 
gance,  that  transparent  depth,  which  I  most 
admire  in  literature." 

With  these  old  favorites  she  classes,  as  most 
beautiful  among  those  now  shown,  the  Even 
ing  Hymn,  the  Italian  Shepherd  Boy,  Edwin, 
Lorenzo  and  Jessica. 

"  The  excellence  of  these  pictures  is  sub 
jective,  and  even  feminine.  They  tell  us  the 
painter's  ideal  of  character :  a  graceful  repose, 
with  a  fitnes§  for  moderate  action  ;  a  capacity 


80  MARGARET  FULLER. 

of  emotion,  with  a  habit  of  reverie.  Not  one 
of  these  beings  is  in  a  state  of  cpanchcment. 
Not  one.  is,  or  perhaps  could  be,  thrown  off  its 
equipoise.  They  are,  even  the  softest,  charac 
terized  by  entire  though  unconscious  self-posses 
sion." 

The  head  called  Beatrice  was  sometimes 
spoken  of  in  those  days  as  representing  the 
Beatrice  of  Dante.  Margaret  finds  in  it  nothing 
to  suggest  the  "  Divina  Commedia." 

"  How  fair,  indeed,  and  not  unmeet  for  a  poet's 
love.  But  what  she  is,  what  she  can  be,  it 
needs  no  Dante  to  discover.  She  is  not  a  lus 
trous,  bewitching  beauty,  neither  is  she  a  high 
and  poetic  one.  She  is  not  a  concentrated  per 
fume,  nor  a  flower,  nor  a  star.  Yet  somewhat 
has  she  of  every  creature's  best.  She  has  the 
golden  mean,  without  any  touch  of  the  medi 
ocre." 

The  landscapes  in  the  exhibition  gave  her 
"unalloyed  delight."  She  found  in  them  Mr. 
Allston's  true  mastery,  —  "a  power  of  sympathy, 
which  gives  each  landscape  a  perfectly  individ 
ual  character.  .  .  .  The  soul  of  the  painter," 
she  says,  "  is  in  these  landscapes,  but  not  his 
character.  Is  not  that  the  highest  art  ?  Nature 
and  the  soul  combined  ;  the  former  freed  from 
crudities  or  blemishes,  the  latter  from  its  merely 
human  aspect." 


ALLSTON'S  PICTURES.  8 1 

Allston's  Miriam  suggests  to  Margaret  a  dif 
ferent  treatment  of  the  subject:  — 

"  This  maiden  had  been  nurtured  in  a  fair  and 
highly  civilized  country,  in  the  midst  of  wrong 
and  scorn  indeed,  but  beneath  the  shadow  of 
sublime  institutions.  Amid  all  the  pains  and 
penances  of  slavery,  the  memory  of  Joseph,  the 
presence  of  Moses,  exalt  her  soul  to  the  highest 
pitch  of  national  pride. 

"  Imagine  the  stately  and  solemn  beauty  with 
which  such  nurture  and  such  a  position  might 
invest  the  Jewish  Miriam.  Imagine  her  at  the 
moment  when  her  lips  were  unsealed,  and  she 
was  permitted  to  sing  the  song  of  deliverance. 
Realize  this  situation,  and  oh,  how  far  will  this 
beautiful  picture  fall  short  of  your  demands  !  " 

To  such  a  criticism  Mr.  Allston  might  have 
replied  that  a  picture  in  words  is  one  thing,  a 
picture  in  colors  quite  another ;  and  that  the 
complex  intellectual  expression  in  which  Mar 
garet  delighted  is  appropriate  to  literary,  but 
not  to  pictorial  art. 

Much  in  the  same  way  does  she  reason  con 
cerning  one  of  Allston's  most  admired  paintings, 
which  represents  Jeremiah  in  prison  dictating  to 
Baruch  :  — 

"  The  form  of  the  prophet  is  brought  out  in 
such  noble  relief,  is  in  such  fine  contrast  to  the 
pale  and  feminine  sweetness  of  the  scribe  at  his 
6 


82  MARGARET  FULLER. 

feet,  that  for  a  time  you  are  satisfied.  But  by 
and  by  you  begin  to  doubt  whether  this  picture 
is  not  rather  imposing  than  majestic.  The  dig 
nity  of  the  prophet's  appearance  seems  to  lie 
rather  in  the  fine  lines  of  the  form  and  drapery 
than  in  the  expression  of  the  face.  It  was  well 
observed  by  one  who  looked  on  him,  that,  if  the 
eyes  were  cast  down,  he  would  become  an  ordi 
nary  man.  This  is  true,  and  the  expression  of 
the  bard  must  not  depend  on  a  look  or  gesture, 
but  beam  with  mild  electricity  from  every  fea 
ture.  Allston's  Jeremiah  is  not  the  mournfully 
indignant  bard,  but  the  robust  and  stately  Jew, 
angry  that  men  will  not  mark  his  word  and  go 
his  way." 

The  test  here  imagined,  that  of  concealing 
the  eyes,  would  answer  as  little  in  real  as  in 
pictured  life.  Although  the  method  of  these 
criticisms  is  arbitrary,  the  conclusion  to  which 
they  bring  Margaret  is  one  in  which  many  will 
agree  with  her  :  — 

"  The  more  I  have  looked  at  these  pictures, 
the  more  I  have  been  satisfied  that  the  grand 
historical  style  did  not  afford  the  scope  most 
proper  to  Mr.  Allston's  genius.  The  Prophets 
and  Sibyls  are  for  the  Michael  Angelos.  The 
Beautiful  is  Mr.  Allston's  dominion.  Here  he 
rules  as  a  genius,  but  in  attempts  such  as  I  have 
been  considering,  can  only  show  his  apprecia- 


ALLSTON'S   PICTURES.  83 

tion  of  the  stern  and  sublime  thoughts  he  wants 
force  to  reproduce." 

Margaret  is  glad  to  go  back  from  these  more 
labored  and  unequal  compositions  to  those  lovely 
feminine  creations  which  had  made  themselves 
so  beloved  that  they  seemed  to  belong  to  the 
spiritual  family  of  Boston  itself,  and  to  "  have 
floated  across  the  painter's  heaven  on  the  golden 
clouds  of  fantasy." 

From  this  paper  our  thoughts  naturally  revert 
to  what  Mr.  Emerson  has  said  of  Margaret  as  an 
art  critic  :  — 

"  Margaret's  love  of  art,  like  that  of  most  cul 
tivated  persons  in  this  country,  was  not  at  all 
technical,  but  truly  a  sympathy  with  the  artist 
in  the  protest  which  his  work  pronounced  on 
the  deformity  of  our  daily  manners  ;  her  co-per 
ception  with  him  of  the  eloquence  of  form  ;  her 
aspiration  with  him  to  a  fairer  life.  As  soon  as 
her  conversation  ran  into  the  mysteries  of  ma 
nipulation  and  artistic  effect,  it  was  less  trust 
worthy.  I  remember  that  in  the  first  times  when 
I  chanced  to  see  pictures  with  her,  I  listened  rev 
erently  to  her  opinions,  and  endeavored  to  see 
what  she  saw.  But  on  several  occasions,  find 
ing  myself  unable  to  reach  it,  I  came  to  suspect 
my  guide,  and  to  believe  at  last  that  her  taste 
in  works  of  art,  though  honest,  was  not  on  uni 
versal,  but  on  idiosyncratic  grounds." 


CHAPTER   VI. 

WILLIAM    HENRY    CIIANNINO'S    PORTRAIT    OF   MAR 
GARET.  —  TRANSCENDENTAL    DAYS. BROOK 

FARM.  —  MARGARET'S  VISITS  THERE. 

IT  is  now  time  for  us  to  speak  of  the  portrait  of 
Margaret  drawn  by  the  hand  of  William  Henry 
Channing.  And  first  give  us  leave  to  say  that 
Mr.  Emerson's  very  valuable  statements  con 
cerning  her  are  to  be  prized  rather  for  their 
critical  and  literary  appreciation  than  accepted 
as  showing  the  insight  given  by  strong  personal 
sympathy. 

While  bound  to  each  other  by  mutual  esteem 
and  admiration,  Margaret  and  Mr.  Emerson 
were  opposites  in  natural  tendency,  if  not  in 
character.  While  Mr.  Emerson  never  appeared 
to  be  modified  by  any  change  of  circumstance, 
never  melted  nor  took  fire,  but  was  always  and 
everywhere  himself,  the  soul  of  Margaret  was 
soabject  to  a  glowing  passion  which  raised  the 
temperature  of  the  social  atmosphere  around 
her.  Was  this  atmosphere  heavy  with  human 
dulness  ?  Margaret  so  smote  the  ponderous 
demon  with  her  fiery  wand  that  he  was  presently 


CHANNING'S  PORTRAIT  OF  MARGARET.   85 

compelled  to  "  caper  nimbly  "  for  her  amusement, 
or  to  flee  from  her  presence.  Was  sorrow  mas 
ter  of  the  situation  ?  Of  this  tyranny  Margaret 
was  equally  intolerant.  The  mourner  must  be 
uplifted  through  her  to  new  hope  and  joy.  Fri 
volity  and  all  unworthiness  had  reason  to  fear 
her,  for  she  denounced  them  to  the  face,  with 
somnambulic  unconcern.  But  where  high  joys 
were  in  the  ascendant,  there  stood  Margaret, 
quick  with  her  inner  interpretation,  adding  to 
human  rapture  itself  the  deep,  calm  lessoning  of 
divine  reason.  A  priestess  of  life-glories,  she 
magnified  her  office,  and  in  its  grandeur  some 
times  grew  grandiloquent.  But  with  all  this 
her  sense  was  solid,  and  her  meaning  clear  and 
worthy. 

Mr.  Emerson  had  also  a  priesthood,  but  of  a 
different  order.  The  calm,  severe  judgment, 
the  unpardoning  taste,  the  deliberation  which 
not  only  preceded  but  also  followed  his  utter 
ances,  carried  him  to  a  remoteness  from  the 
common  life  of  common  people,  and  allowed  no 
intermingling  of  this  life  with  his  own.  For 
him,  too,  came  a  time  of  fusion  which  vindicated 
his  interest  in  the  great  issues  of  his  time.  But 
this  was  not  in  Margaret's  day,  and  to  her  he 
seemed  the  palm-tree  in  the  desert,  graceful 
and  admirable,  bearing  aloft  a  waving  crest,  but 
spreading  no  sheltering  and  embracing  branches. 


86  MARGARET  FULLER. 

William  Henry  Channing,  whose  reminis 
cences  of  Margaret  stand  last  in  order  in  the 
memoirs  already  published,  was  more  nearly 
allied  to  her  in  character  than  either  of  his 
coadjutors.  If  Mr.  Emerson's  bane  was  a  want 
of  fusion,  the  ruling  characteristic  of  Mr.  Chan 
ning  was  a  heart  that  melted  almost  too  easily 
at  the  touch  of  human  sympathy,  and  whose 
heat  and  glow  of  feeling  may  sometimes  have 
overswept  the  calmer  power  of  judgment. 

He  had  heard  of  Margaret  in  her  school-girl 
•   days   as    a   prodigy    of    talent   and    attainment. 
During  the  period  of   his  own  studies  in   Cam 
bridge   he   first   made    her   acquaintance.      He 
f    was    struck,  but   not  attracted,  by    her    "saucy 
I    sprightliness."     Her  intensity  of  temperament, 
•K. unmeasured    satire,   and   commanding  air  were 
indeed  somewhat  repellent  to  him,  and   almost 
[    led  him  to  conjecture  that  she  had  chosen  for  her 
part  in  life  the  role  of  a  Yankee  Corinne.     Her 
friendships,  too,  seemed  to  him  extravagant.     He 
dreaded  the  encounter  of  a  personality  so  impe 
rious   and  uncompromising  in  its  demands,  and 
was   content   to    observe   her  at  a  safe  and  re 
spectful   distance.     Soon,  however,  through   the 
"  shining   fog "    of  brilliant  wit    and   sentiment 
the  real  nobility  of  her  nature  made  itself  seen 
and  felt.     He  found  her  sagacious  in  her  judg 
ments.       Her  conversation  showed  breadth    of 


CHANNING'S  PORTRAIT  OF  MARGARET.   87 

culture  and  depth  of  thought.  Above  all,  he 
was  made  to  feel  her  great  sincerity  of  purpose. 
"  This  it  was,"  says  he,  "  that  made  her  criticism 
so  trenchant,  her  contempt  of  pretence  so  quick 
and  stern."  The  loftiness  of  her  ideal  explained 
the  severity  of  her  judgments,  and  the  heroic 
mould  and  impulse  of  her  character  had  much 
to  do  with  her  stately  deportment.  Thus  the 
salient  points  which,  at  a  distance,  had  seemed 
to  him  defects,  were  found,  on  a  nearer  view,  to 
be  the  indications  of  qualities  most  rare  and  ad 
mirable. 

James  Freeman  Clarke,  an  intimate  of  both 
parties,  made  them  better  known  to  each  other 
by  his  cordial  interpretation  of  each  to  each. 
But  it  was  in  the  year  1839,  in  the  days  of 
Margaret's  residence  at  Jamaica  Plain,  that  the 
friendship  between  these  two  eminent  persons, 
"  long  before  rooted,  grew  up,  and  leafed,  and 
blossomed."  Mr.  Channing  traces  the  begin 
ning  of  this  nearer  relation  to  a  certain  day  on 
which  he  sought  Margaret  amid  these  new  sur 
roundings.  '  It  was  a  bright  summer  day.  The 
windows  of  Margaret's  parlor  commanded  a 
pleasant  view  of  meadows,  with  hills  beyond. 
She  entered,  bearing  a  vase  of  freshly  gathered 
flowers,  her  own  tribute  just  levied  from  the  gar 
den.  Of  these,  and  of  their  significance,  was 
her  first  speech.  From  these  she  passed  to  the 


88  MARGARET  FULLER. 

engravings  which  adorned  her  walls,  and  to  much 
talk  of  art  and  artists.  From  this  theme  an  easy 
transition  led  the  conversation  to  Greece  and  its 
mythology.  A  little  later,  Margaret  began  to 
speak  of  the  friends  whose  care  had  surrounded 
her  with  these  objects  of  her  delighting  contem 
plation.  The  intended  marriage  of  two  of  the 
best  beloved  among  these  friends  was  much  in  her 
mind  at  the  moment,  and  Mr.  Channing  compares 
the  gradation  of  thought  by  which  she  arrived 
at  the  announcement  of  this  piece  of  intelligence 
to  the  progress  and  denouement  of  a  drama,  so 
eloquent  and  artistic  did  it  appear  to  him. 

A  ramble  in  Bussey's  woods  followed  this  in 
door  interview.  In  his  account  of  it  Mr.  Chan 
ning  has  given  us  not  only  a  record  of  much 
that  Margaret  said,  but  also  a  picture  of  how 
she  looked  on  that  ever-remembered  day. 

"  Reaching  a  moss-cushioned  ledge  near  the 
summit,  she  seated  herself.  .  .  .  As,  leaning  on 
!   one  arm,  she  poured  out  her  stream  of  thought, 
•  turning  now  and  then  her  eyes  full  upon  me,  to  see 
\  whether  I  caught  her  meaning,  there  was  leisure 
to  study  her  thoroughly.     Her  temperament  was 
predominantly  what  the  physiologists  would  call 
nervous-sanguine  ;  and  the  gray  eye,  rich  brown 
hair,  and   light  complexion,  with  the  muscular 
and  well-developed  frame,  bespoke  delicacy  bal 
anced  by  vigor.     Here  was  a  sensitive  yet  pow- 


CHANNING1  S  PORTRAIT  OF  MARGARET.   89 

erful  being,  fit  at  once  for  rapture  or  sustained 
effort.  She  certainly  had  not  beauty  ;  yet  the 
high-arched  dome  of  the  head,  the  changeful  ex 
pressiveness  of  every  feature,  and  her  whole  air 
of  mingled  dignity  and  impulse  gave  her  a  com 
manding  charm." 

Mr.  Channing  mentions,  as  others  do,  Marga 
ret's  habit  of  shutting  her  eyes,  and  opening  them 
suddenly,  with  a  singular  dilatation  of  the  iris. 
He  dwells  still  more  upon  the  pliancy  of  her  neck, 
the  expression  of  which  varied  with  her  mood  of 
mind.  In  moments  of  tender  or  pensive  feeling 
its  curves  were  like  those  of  a  swan  ;  under  the 
influence  of  indignation  its  movements  were  more 
like  the  swoopings  of  a  bird  of  prey. 

"  Finally,  in  the  animation  yet  abandon  of 
Margaret's  attitude  and  look  were  rarely  blended 
the  fiery  force  of  Northern,  and  the  soft  languor 
of  Southern  races." 

Until  this  day  Mr.  Channing  had  known  Mar 
garet  through  her  intellect  only.  This  conver 
sation  of  many  hours  revealed  her  to  him  in  a 
new  light.  It  unfolded  to  him  her  manifold  gifts 
and  her  deep  experience,  her  great  capacity  for 
joy,  and  the  suffering  through  which  she  had 
passed.  She  should  have  been  an  acknowledged 
queen  among  the  magnates  of  European  cul 
ture  :  she  was  hedged  about  by  the  narrow  intol 
erance  of  provincial  New  England. 


QO  MARGARET  FULLER. 

In  a  more  generous  soil  her  genius  would 
have  borne  fruit  of  the  highest  order.  She  felt 
this,  felt  that  she  failed  of  this  highest  result, 
and  was  yet  so  patient,  so  faithful  to  duty,  so 
considerate  of  all  who  had  claims  upon  her  ! 
Perceiving  now  the  ardor  of  her  nature  and  the 
strength  of  her  self-sacrifice,  Margaret's  new 
friend  could  not  but  bow  in  reverence  before 
her ;  and  from  that  time  the  two  always  met  as 
intimates. 

Mr.  Channing's  reminiscences  preserve  for  us 
a  valuable  aperpt  of  the  Transcendental  move 
ment  in  New  England,  and  of  Margaret's  rela 
tion  to  it. 

The  circle  of  the  Transcendentalists  was,  for 
the  moment,  a  new  church,  with  the  joy  and 
pain  of  a  new  evangel  in  its  midst.  In  the  very 
heart  of  New  England  Puritanism,  at  that  day 
hard,  dry,  and  thorny,  had  sprung  up  a  new 
growth,  like  the  blossoming  of  a  century-plant, 
beautiful  and  inconvenient.  Boundaries  had  to 
be  enlarged  for  it ;  for  if  society  would  not  give 
it  room,  it  was  determined  to  go  outside  of  so 
ciety,  and  to  assert,  at  all  hazards,  the  freedom 
of  inspiration. 

While  this  movement  was  in  a  good  degree 
one  of  simple  protest  and  reaction,  it  yet  drew 
much  of  its  inspiration  from  foreign  countries 
and  periods  of  time  remote  from  our  own. 


TRANSCENDENTAL  DAYS.  91 

From  the  standpoint  of  the  present  it  looked 
deeply  into  the  past  and  into  the  future.  Its 
leaders  studied  Plato,  Seneca,  Epictetus,  Plutarch, 
among  the  classic  authors,  and  De  Wette,  He 
gel,  Kant,  and  Fichte,  among  the  prophets  of 
modern  thought.  The  welt-gcist  of  the  Germans 
was  its  ideal.  Method,  it  could  not  boast.  Free 
discussion,  abstinence  from  participation  in  or 
dinary  social  life  and  religious  worship,  a  restless 
seeking  for  sympathy,  and  a  constant  formula 
tion  of  sentiments  which,  exalted  in  themselves, 
seemed  to  lose  something  of  their  character  by 
the  frequency  with  which  they  were  presented, 
—  these  are  some  of  the  traits  which  Transcen 
dentalism  showed  to  the  uninitiated. 

To  its  Greek  and  Germanic  elements  was  pres 
ently  added  an  influence  borrowed  from  the  sys 
tematic  genius  of  France.  The  works  of  Fourier 
became  a  gospel  of  hope  to  those  who  looked 
for  a  speedy  regeneration  of  society.  George 
Ripley,  an  eminent  scholar  and  critic,  determined 
to  embody  this  hope  in  a  grand  experiment,  and 
bravely  organized  the  Brook  Farm  Community 
upon  a  plan  as  nearly  in  accordance  with  the 
principles  laid  down  by  Fourier  as  circumstances 
would  allow.  He  was  accompanied  in  this  new 
departure  by  a  little  band  of  fellow-workers,  of 
whom  one  or  two  were  already  well  known  as 
literary  men,  while  others  of  them  have  since 
attained  distinction  in  various  walks  of  life. 


92  MARGARET  FULLER. 

While    all    the    Transcendentalists    were   not 

associationists,  the  family  at  Brook    Farm  was 

yet  considered  as  an  outcome  of^  the  newjnove- 

^  ment,  and  as  such  was  regarded  by  its  promoters 

\vTtrTgreat  sympathy  and  interest. 

Margaret's  position  among  the  Transcendental 
ists  may  easily  be  imagined.  In  such  a  group 
of  awakened__thinkers  her  place  was  soon  deter 
mined.  At  their  frequent  reunions  she  was  a 
most  welcome  and  honored  guest.  More  than 
this.  Among  those  who  claimed  a  fresh  out 
pouring  of  the  Spirit  Margaret  was  recognized 
as  a  bearer  of  the  living  word.  She  was  not  in 
haste  to  speak  on  these  occasions,  but  seemed 
for  a  time  absorbed  in  listening  and  in  observa 
tion.  When  the  moment  came,  she  showed  the 
results  of  this  attention  by  briefly  restating  the 
points  already  touched  upon,  passing  thence  to 
the  unfolding  of  her  own  views.  This  she  seems 
always  to  have  done  with  much  force,  and  with 
a  grace  no  less  remarkable.  She  spoke  slowly 
at  first,  with  the  deliberation  inseparable  from 
weight  of  thought.  As  she  proceeded,  images 
and  illustrations  suggested  themselves  to  her 
mind  in  rapid  succession.  "  The  sweep  of  her 
speech  became  grand,"  says  Mr.  Channing.  Her 
eloquence  was  direct  and  vigorous.  /Her  wide 
range  of  reading  supplied  her  with  ready  and 
copious  illustrations.  The  commonplace  be- 


BROOK  FARM.  93 

came  original  from  her  way  of  treating  it.  She 
had  power  to  analyze,  power  to  sum  up.  Her 
use  of  language  had  a  rhythmic  charm.  She  was 
sometimes  grandiloquent,  sometimes  excessive  in 
her  denunciation  of  popular  evils  and  abuses,  but 
her  sincerity  of  purpose,  her  grasp  of  thought  and 
keenness  of  apprehension,  were  felt  throughout. 

The  source  of  these  and  similar  sibylline  mani 
festations  is  a  subtle  one.  Such  a  speaker, 
consciously-or  unconsciously,  draws  much  of  her 
inspiration  from  the  minds  of  those  around  her. 
Each  of  these  in  a  measure  affects  her,  while  she 
still  remains  mistress  of  herself.  Her  thought 
is  upheld  by  the  general  sympathy,  which  she 
suddenly  lifts  to  a  height  undreamed  of  before. 
She  divines  what  each  most  purely  wishes,  most 
deeply  hopes  ;  and  so  her  words  reveal  to  those 
present  not  only  their  own  unuttered  thoughts, 
but  also  the  higher  significance  and  complete 
ness  which  she  is  able  to  give  to  these  thoughts 
under  the  seal  of  her  own  conviction.  These 
fleeting  utterances,  alas  !  are  lost,  like  the  leaves 
swept  of  old  from  the  sibyl's  cave.  But  as  souls 
are,  after  all,  the  most  permanent  facts  that  we 
know  of,  who  shall  say  that  one  breath  of  them 
is  wasted  ? 

Young  hearts  to-day,  separated  from  the  time 
we  speak  of  by  two  or  three  generations,  may 


94  MARGARET  FULLER. 

still  keep  the  generous  thrill  which  Margaret 
awakened  in  the  bosom  of  a  grandmother,  her 
self  then  in  the  bloom  of  youth.  Books,  indeed, 
are  laid  away  and  forgotten,  manuscripts  are  lost 
or  destroyed.  The  spoken  word,  fleeting  though 
it  be,  may  kindle  a  flame  that  ages  shall  not 
quench,  but  only  brighten. 

While,  therefore,  it  may  well  grieve  us  to-day 
that  we  cannot  know  exactly  what  Margaret  said 
nor  how  she  said  it,  we  may  believe  that  the  in 
spiration  which  she  felt  and  communicated  to 
others  remains,  not  the  less,  a  permanent  value 
in  the  community. 

Having  already  somewhat  the  position  of  a 
"  come-outer,"  Margaret  was  naturally  supposed 
to  be  in  entire  sympathy  with  the  Transcenden- 
talists.  This  supposition  was  strengthened  by 
her  assuming  the_editorship  of  the  "  Dial,"  and 
Christopher  Cranch,  in  caricaturing  it,  repre 
sented  .her  as  ja^ M i nerva  driving  a  team  of  the 
new  illuminati.  Margaret's  journals  and  letters, 
however,  show  that  while  she  welcomed  the  new 
outlook  towards  a  possible  perfection,  she  did  not 
accept  without  reserve  the  enthusiasms  of  those 
about  her.  "The  good  time  coming,"  which 
seemed  to  them  so  near,  appeared  to  her  very 
distant,  and  difficult  of  attainment.  Her  views 
at  the  outset  are  aptly  expressed  in  the  following 
extract  from  one  of  her  letters:  — 


BROOK   FARM.  95 

"  Utopia  it  is  impossible  to  build  up.    At  least,   / 


fur  our  race  on  this  one  planet 
are^moro  limited  than  frhusu  uf  iiiual  uf  my 
friends.  I  accept  the  limitations  of  human  na 
ture,  and  '  believe  a  wise  acknowledgment  of 
them  one  of  the  best  conditions  of  progress. 
Yet  every  noble  scheme,  every  poetic  manifes 
tation,  prophesies  to  man  his  eventual  destiny. 
And  were  not  man  ever  more  sanguine  than 
facts  at  the  moment  justify,  he  would  remain 
torpid,  or  be  sunk  in  sensuality.  It  is~-o*u.this 
ground  that  I  sympathize  with  what  is  called  the 
'Transcendental  party,'  and  that  I  feel  their  aim 
to  be  the  true  one." 

The  grievance  maintained  against  society  by 
the  new  school  of  thought  was  of  a  nature  to 
make  the  respondent  say  :  "  We  have  piped 
unto  you,  and  ye  have  not  danced  ;  we  have 
mourned  unto  you,  and  ye  have  not  wept."  The 
status  of  New  England,  social  and  political,  was 
founded  upon  liberal  traditions.  Yet  these 
friends  placed  themselves  in  opposition  to  the 
whole  existing  order  of  things.  The  Unitarian 
discipline  had  delivered  them  from-  the  yoke  of 
doctrines  impossible  to  an  age  of  critical  culture. 
They  reproached  it  with  having  taken  away  the 
mystical  ideas  which,  in  imaginative  minds,  had 
made  the  poetry  of  the  old  faith.  Margaret, 
writing  of  these  things  in  1840,'  well  says  : 


96  MARGARET  FULLER. 

"  Since  the  Revolution  there  has  been  little  in 
the  circumstances  of  this  country  to  call  out 
the  higher  sentiments.  The  effect  of  continued 
prosperity  is  the  same  on  nations  as  on  indi 
viduals  ;  it  leaves  the  nobler  faculties  undevel 
oped.  The  superficial  diffusion  of  knowledge, 
unless  attended  by  a  deepening  of  its  sources, 
is  likely  to  vulgarize  rather  than  to  raise  the 
thought  of  a  nation.  .  .  .  The  tendency  of  circum 
stances  has  been  to  make  our  people  superficial, 
irreverent,  and  more  anxious  to  get  a  living  than 
to  live  mentally  and  morally."  So  much  for  the 
careless  crowd.  In  another  sentence,  Margaret 
gives  us  the  clew  to  much  of  the  "divine  discon- 
tent"  felt  by  deeper  thinkers.  She  says  :  "How 
much  those  of  us  who  have  been  formed  by  the 
European  mind  have  to  unlearn  and  lay  aside,  if 
we  would  act  here  !  " 

The  scholars  of  New  England  had  indeed  so 
devoted  themselves  to  the  study  of  foreign  litera 
tures  as  to  be  little  familiar  with  the  spirit  and 
the  needs  of  their  own  country.  The  England 
of  the  English  classics,  the  Germany  of  the 
German  poets  and  philosophers,  the  Italy  of  the 
Renaissance  writers  and  artists,  combined  to 
make  the  continent  in  which  their  thoughts 
were  at  home.  The  England  of  the  commonalty, 
the  Germany  and  Italy  of  the  peasant  and  ar 
tisan,  were  little  known  to  them,  and  as  little 


VISITS  TO  BROOK  FARM.  97 

the  characteristic  qualities  and  defects  of  their 
own  country-people.  Hence  their  comparison  of 
the  old  society  with  the  new  was  in  great  part 
founded  upon  what  we  may  call  "  literary  illu 
sions."  Moreover,  the  German  and  English 
methods  of  thought  were  only  partially  applica 
ble  to  a  mode  of  life  whose  conditions  far  tran 
scended  those  of  European  life  in  their  freedom 
and  in  the  objects  recognized  as  common  to  all. 

Those  of  us  who  have  numbered  threescore 
years  can  remember  the  perpetual  lamentation 
of  the  cultivated  American  of  forty  years  ago. 
His  whole  talk  was  a  cataloguing  of  negatives  : 
"  We  have  not  this,  we  have  not  that."  To  all  of 
which  the  true  answer  would  have  been :  "  You 
have  a  wonderful  country,  an  exceptional  race, 
an  unparalleled  opportunity.  You  have  not  yet 
made  your  five  talents  ten.  That  is  what  you 
should  set  about  immediately." 

The  Brook  Farm  experiment  probably  ap 
peared  to  Margaret  in  the  light  of  an  Utopia. 
Her  regard  for  the  founders  of  the  enterprise 
induced  her,  n^vprt-hplpss,  fn  visij-  the  place  fre 
quently.  OFthe  first  of  these  visits  her  journal 
has  preserved  a  full  account. 

The  aspect  of  the  new  settlement  at  first  ap 
peared  to  her  somewhat  desolate  :  "  You  seem 
to  belong  to  nobody,  to  have  a  right  to  speak  to 
nobody  ;  but  very  soon  you  learn  to  take  care  of 

7 


98  MARGARET  FULLER. 

yourself,  and  then  the  freedom  of  the  place  is 
delightful." 

The  society  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Ripley  was  most 
congenial  to  her,  and  the  nearness  of  the  woods 
afforded  an  opportunity  for  the  rambles  in  which 
she  delighted.  But  her  time  was  not  all  dedi 
cated  to  these  calm  pleasures.  Soon  she  had 
won  the  confidence  of  several  of  the  inmates  of 
the  place,  who  imparted  to  her  their  heart  histo 
ries,  seeking  that  aid  and  counsel  which  she  was 
so  well  able  to  give.  She  mentions  the  holding 
of  two  conversations  during  this  visit,  in  both  of 
which  she  was  the  leader.  The  first  was  on 
Education,  a  subject  concerning  which  her  ideas 
differed  from  those  adopted  by  the  Community. 
The  manners  of  some  of  those  present  were  too 
free  and  easy  to  be  agreeable  to  Margaret,  who 
was  accustomed  to  deference. 

At  the  second  conversation,  some  days  later, 
the  circle  was  smaller,  and  no  one  showed  any 
sign  of  weariness  or  indifference.  The  subject 
was  Impulse,  chosen  by  Margaret  because  she 
observed  among  her  new  friends  "  a  great  ten 
dency  to  advocate  spontaneousness  at  the  ex 
pense  of  reflection."  Of  her  own  part  in  this 
exercise  she  says  :  — 

"  I  defended  nature,  as  I  always  do,  —  the  spirit 
ascending  through,  not  superseding:  nature.  But 
in  the  scale  of  sense,  intellect,  spirit,  I  advo- 


VISITS  TO  BROOK  FARM.  99 

cated  to-night  the  claims  of  intellect,  because 
those  present  were  rather  disposed  to  postpone 
them." 

After  the  lapse  of  a  year  she  found  the  tone 
of  the  society  much  improved.  The  mere  freak- 
ishness  of  unrestraint  had  yielded  to  a  recog 
nition  of  the  true  conditions  of  liberty,  and 
tolerance  was  combined  with  sincerity. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

MARGARET'S  LOVE  OF  CHILDREN.  —  VISIT  TO  CON 
CORD    AFTER   THE    DEATH  OF  WALDO  EMERSON. 

CONVERSATIONS     IN    BOSTON. SUMMER    ON 

THE    LAKES. 

AMONG  Margaret's  life-long  characteristics  was 
a  genuine  love  of  little  children,  which  sprang 
from  a  deep  sense  of  the  beauty  and  sacredness 
of  childhood.  When  she  visited  the  homes  of 
her  friends,  the  little  ones  of  their  households 
were  taken  into  the  circle  of  her  loving  attention. 
Three  of  these  became  so  especially  dear  to  her 
that  she  called  them  her;  children.  These  were 
Waldo  Emerson,  Pickie  Greeley,  and  Herman 
Clarke.  For  each  of  them  the  span  of  earthly 
life  was  short,  no  one  of  them  living  to  pass  out 
of  childhood. 

Waldo  was  the  eldest  son  of  Mr.  Emerson, 
the  child  deeply  mourned  and  commemorated 
by  him  in  the  well-known  threnody  :  — 

"  The  hyacinthine  boy  for  whom 
Morn  well  might  break  and  April  bloom. 
The  gracious  boy  who  did  adorn 
The  world  whereinto  he  was  born, 


VISIT  TO   CONC&RD.  IOI 


And  by  his  countenance  repay 

The  favor  of  the  loving  Day, 

Has  disappeared  from  the  Day's  eye. 

This  death  occurred  in  1841.  Margaret  visited 
Concord  soon  afterward,  and  has  left  in  her  jour 
nals  a  brief  record  of  this  visit,  in  which  she 
made  the  grief  of  her  friends  her  own.  We 
gather  from  its  first  phrase  that  Mr.  Emerson, 
whom  she  now  speaks  of  as  "  Waldo,"  had  wished 
her  to  commit  to  writing  some  of  her  reminis 
cences  of  the  dear  one  lately  departed  :  — 

"  Waldo  brought  me  at  once  the  inkhorn  and 
pen.  I  told  him  if  he  kept  me  so  strictly  to 
my  promise  I  might  lose  my  ardor ;  however, 
I  began  at  once  to  write  for  him,  but  not  with 
much  success.  Lidian  came  in  to  see  me  before 
dinner.  She  wept  for  the  lost  child,  and  I  was 
tempted  to  do  the  same,  which  relieved  much 
from  the  oppression  I  have  felt  since  I  came. 
Waldo  showed  me  all  he  and  others  had  written 
about  the  child  ;  there  is  very  little  from  Waldo's 
own  observation,  though  he  was  with  him  so 
much.  He  has  not  much  eye  for  the  little  signs 
in  children  that  have  such  great  leadings.  The 
little  there  is,  is  good. 

" '  Mamma,  may  I  have  this  little  bell  which 
I  have  been  making,  to  stand  by  the  side  of  my 
bed?' 

" '  Yes,  it  may  stand  there.1 


102  MARGARET  FULLER. 

"  '  But,  mamma,  I  am  afraid  it  will  alarm  you. 
It  may  sound  in  the  middle  of  the  night,  and  it 
will  be  heard  over  the  whole  town.  It  will  sound 
like  some  great  glass  thing  which  will  fall  down 
and  break  all  to  pieces  ;  it  will  be  louder  than 
a  thousand  hawks  ;  it  will  be  heard  across  the 
water  and  in  all  the  countries,  it  will  be  heard 
all  over  the  world.' 

"I  like  this,  because  it  was  exactly  so  he  talked, 
spinning  away  without  end  and  with  large,  beau 
tiful,  earnest  eyes.  But  most  of  the  stories  are 
of  short  sayings. 

"  This  is  good  in  M.  Russell's  journal  of  him. 
She  had  been  telling  him  a  story  that  excited 
him,  and  then  he  told  her  this  :  '  How  his  horse 
went  out  into  a  long,  long  wood,  and  how  he 
looked  through  a  squirrel's  eyes  and  saw  a  great 
giant,  and  the  giant  was  himself.' 

"  Went  to  see  the  Hawthornes  ;  it  was  very 
pleasant,  the  poplars  whisper  so  suddenly  their 
pleasant   tale,  and   everywhere    the  view  is  so 
peaceful.      The   house   within    I   like,  all   their 
things  are  so  expressive  of  themselves  and  mix  in> 
/  so  gracefully  with  the  old  furniture.     H.  walked  ' 
j  home  with  me  ;  we  stopped  some  time  to  look 
!   at  the  moon.     She  was  struggling  with  clouds. 
He  said  he  should  be  much  more  willing  to  die 
than  two  months  ago,  for  he  had  had  some  real 


VISIT  TO   CONCORD.  103 

possession  in  life  ;  but  still  he  never  wished  to 
leave  this  earth,  it  was  beautiful  enough.  He 
expressed,'  as  he  always  does,  many  fine  per 
ceptions.  I  like  to  hear  the  lightest  thing-Jifi- 
says. 

"  Waldo  and  I  have  good  meetings,  though  we 
stop  at  all  our  old  places.  But  my  expectations 
are  moderate  now  ;  it  is  his  beautiful  presence 
that  I  prize  far  more  than  our  intercourse. 
He  has  been  reading  me  his  new  poems,  and  the 
other  day  at  the  end  he  asked  me  how  I  liked 
the  'little  subjective  twinkle  all  through.' 

Saturday.  Dear  Richard  has  been  here  a  day 
or  two,  and  his  common  sense  and  homely  affec 
tion  are  grateful  after  these  fine  people  with 
whom  I  live  at  sword's  points,  though  for  the 
present  turned  downwards.  It  is  well  to  'thee' 
and  '  thou '  it  after  talking  with  angels  and  gen 
iuses.  Richard  and  I  spent  the  afternoon  at 
Walden  and  got  a  great  bunch  of  flowers.  A 
fine  thunder-shower  gloomed  gradually  up  and 
turned  the  lake  inky  black,  but  no  rain  came  till 
sunset. 

"  Sunday.  A  heavy  rain.  I  must  stay  at 
home.  I  feel  sad.  Mrs.  Ripley  was  here,  but  I 
only  saw  her  a  while  in  the  afternoon  and  spent 
the  day  in  my  room.  Sunday  I  do  not  give  to 
my  duty  writing,  no  indeed.  I  finished  yesterday, 


104  MARGARET  FULLER. 

after  a  rest,  the  article  on  ballads.     Though  a 
patchwork  thing,  it  has  craved  time  to  do  it." 

We  come  now  to  the  period  of  the  famous 
conversations  in  which,  more  fully  than  in  aught 
else,  Margaret  may  be  said  to  have  delivered 
:;  her  message  to  the  women  of  her  time.  The 
novelty  of  such  a  departure  in  the  Boston  of 
forty  years  ago  may  be  imagined,  and  also  the 
division  of  opinion  concerning  it  in  those  social 
circles  which  consider  themselves  as  charged  with 
the  guardianship  of  the  taste  of  the  community. 

Margaret's  attitude  in  view  of  this  undertak 
ing  appears  to  have  been  a  modest  and  sensible 
one.  She  found  herself,  in  the  first  place,  under 
the  necessity  of  earning  money  for  her  own  sup 
port  and  in  aid  of  her  family.  Her  greatest  gift, 
as  she  well  knew,  was  in  conversation.  Her  rare 
eloquence  did  not  much  avail  her  at  her  desk, 
and  though  all  that  she  wrote  had  the  value  of 
thought  and  of  study,  it  was  in  living  speech 
alone  that  her  genius  made  itself  entirely  felt 
and  appreciated.  What  more  natural  than  that 
she  should  have  proposed  to  make  this  rare  gift 
available  for  herself  and  others  ?  The  reasons 
which  she  herself  gives  for  undertaking  the  ex 
periment  are  so  solid  and  sufficient  as  to  make  us 
blush  retrospectively  for  the  merriment  in  which 
the  thoughtless  world  sometimes  indulged  con- 


CONVERSATIONS  IN  BOSTON.          105 

cerning  her.  Her  wish  was  "  to  pass  in  review 
the  departments  of  thought  and  knowledge,  and 
endeavor  to  place  them  in  due  relation  to  one 
another  in  our  minds  ;  to  systematize  thought, 
and  give  a  precision  and  clearness  in  which  our 
sex  are  so  deficient,  chiefly,  I  think,  because 
they  have  so  few  inducements  to  test  and  classify 
what  they  receive."  In  fine,  she  hoped  to  be 
able  to  throw  some  light  upon  the  momentous 
questions,  "  What  were  we  born  to  do,  and  how 
shall  we  do  it  ?  " 

In  looking  forward  to  this  effort,  she  saw  one 
possible  obstacle  in  "  that  sort  of  vanity  which 
wears  the  garb  of  modesty,"  and  which,  she 
thinks,  may  make  some  women  fear  "  to  lay 
aside  the  shelter  of  vague  generalities,  the  art 
of  coterie  criticism,"  and  the  "delicate  disdains 
of  good  society"  even  to  obtain  a  nearer  view  of 
truth  itself.  "Yet,"  she  says,  "as  without  such 
generous  courage  nothing  of  value  can  be  learned 
or  done,  I  hope  to  see  many  capable  of  it." 

The  twofold  impression  which  Margaret  made 
is  to  be  remarked  in  this  matter  of  the  conversa 
tions,  as  elsewhere.  Without  the  fold  of  her 
admirers  stood  carping,  unkind  critics  ;  within 
were  enthusiastic  and  grateful  friends. 

The  first  meeting  of  Margaret's  Conversation 
Class  was  held  at  Miss  Peabody's  rooms,  in  West 
Street,  Boston,  on  the  6th  of  November,  1839. 


106  MARGARET  FULLER. 

Twenty-five  ladies  were  present,  who  showed 
themselves  to  be  of  the  elect  by  their  own  elec 
tion  of  a  noble  aim.  These  were  all  ladies  of 
superior  position,  gathered  by  a  common  interest 
from  very  various  belongings  of  creed  and  per 
suasion.  At  this,  their  first  coming  together, 
Margaret  prefaced  her  programme  by  some  re 
marks  on  the  deficiencies  in  the  education  given 
to  women,  defects  which  she  thought  that  later 
study,  aided  by  the  stimulus  of  mutual  endeavor 
and  interchange  of  thought,  might  do  much  to 
remedy.  Her  opening  remarks  are  as  instructive 
to-day  as  they  were  when  she  uttered  them  :  — 

"Women  are  now  taught,  at  school,  all  that 
men  are.  They  run  over,  superficially,  even  more 
studies,  without  being  really  taught  anything. 
But  with  this  difference  :  men  are  called  on, 
from  a  very  early  period,  to  reproduce  all  that 
they  learn.  Their  college  exercises,  their  politi 
cal  duties,  their  professional  studies,  the  first 
actions  of  life  in  any  direction,  call  on  them  to 
put  to  use  what  they  have  learned.  But  women 
learn  without  any  attempt  to  reproduce.  Their 
only  reproduction  is  for  purposes  of  display.  It 
is  to  supply  this  defect  that  these  conversations 
have  been  planned." 

Margaret  had  chosen  the  Greek  Mythology  for 
the  subject  of  her  first  conversations.  Her  rea 
sons  for  this  selection  are  worth  remembering  :  — 


CONVERSATIONS  IN  BOSTON.          IO/ 

"  It  is  quite  separated  from  all  exciting  local 
subjects.  It  is  serious  without  being  solemn, 
and  without  excluding  any  mode  of  intellectual 
action  ;  it  is  playful  as  well  as  deep.  It  is  suffi 
ciently  wide,  for  it  is  a  complete  expression  of 
the  cultivation  of  a  nation.  It  is  also  generally 
known,  and  associated  with  all  our  ideas  of  the 
arts." 

In  considering  this  statement  it  is  not  diffi 
cult  for  us  at  this  day  to  read,  as  people  say, 
between  the  lines.  The  religious  world  of  Mar 
garet's  youth  was  agitated  by  oppositions  which 
rent  asunder  the  heart  of  Christendom.  Mar 
garet  wished  to  lead  her  pupils  beyond  all  dis 
cord,  into  the  high  and  happy  unity.  Her  own 
nature  was  both  fervent  and  religious,  but  she 
could  not  accept  intolerance  either  in  belief  or 
in  disbelief.  To  study  with  her  friends  the  ethics 
of  an  ancient  faith,  too  remote  to  become  the 
occasion  of  personal  excitement,  seemed  to  her 
a  step  in  the  direction  of  freer  thought  and  a 
more  unbiassed  criticism.  The  Greek  mythol 
ogy,  instinct  with  the  genius  of  a  wonderful 
people,  afforded  her  the  desired  theme.  With 
its  help  she  would  introduce  her  pupils  to  a 
sphere  of  serenest  contemplation,  in  which  Re 
ligion  and  Beauty  had  become  wedded  through 
immortal  types. 

Margaret   was    not   able   to   do    this   without 


108  MARGARET  FULLER. 

awakening  some  orthodox  suspicion.  This  she 
knew  how  to  allay ;  for  when  one  of  the  class 
demurred  at  the  supposition  that  a  Christian 
nation  could  have  anything  to  envy  in  the  re 
ligion  of  a  heathen  one,  Margaret  said  that  she 
had  no  desire  to  go  back,  and  believed  we  have 
the  elements  of  a  deeper  civilization  ;  yet  the 
Christian  was  in  its  infancy,  the  Greek  in  its 
maturity,  nor  could  she  look  on  the  expression 
of  a  great  nation's  intellect  as  insignificant. 
These  fables  of  the  gods  were  the  result  of  the 
universal  sentiments  of  religion,  aspiration,  intel 
lectual  action,  of  a  people  whose  political  and 
aesthetic  life  had  become  immortal. 

Margaret's  good  hopes  were  justified  by  the 
success  of  her  undertaking.  The  value  of  what 
she  had  to  impart  was  felt  by  her  class  from  the 
first.  It  was  not  received  in  a  passive  and  com 
pliant  manner,  but  with  the  earnest  questioning 
which  she  had  wished  to  awaken,  and  which 
she  was  so  well  able  both  to  promote  and  to 
satisfy. 

In  the  first  of  her  conversations  ten  of  the 
twenty-five  persons  present  took  part,  and  this 
number  continued  to  increase  in  later  meetings. 
Some  of  these  ladies  had  been  bred  in  the  ways 
of  liberal  thought,  some  held  fast  to  the  formal 
limits  of  the  old  theology.  The  extremes  of 
bigotry  and  scepticism  were  probably  not  unrep- 


CONVERSATIONS  IN  BOSTON.          IOQ 

resented  among  them.  From  these  differences 
and  dissidences  Margaret  was  able  to  combine 
the  elements  of  a  wider  agreement.  A  common 
ground  of  interest  was  found  in  the  range  of 
topics  presented  by  her,  and  in  her  manner  of 
presenting  them.  The  enlargement  of  a  new 
sympathy  was  made  to  modify  the  intense  and 
narrow  interests  in  which  women,  as  a  class,  are 
apt  to  abide. 

Margaret's  journal  and  letters  to  friends  give 
some  accounts  of  the  first  meetings.  She  finds 
her  circle,  from  the  start,  devoutly  thoughtful, 
and  feels  herself,  not  "a  paid  Corinne,"  but  a 
teacher  and  a  guide.  The  bright  minds  respond 
to  her  appeal,  as  half-kindled  coals  glow  beneath 
a  strong  and  sudden  breath.  The  present,  al 
ways  arid  if  exclusively  dwelt  in,  is  enriched  by 
the  treasures  of  the  past  and  animated  by  the 
great  hopes  of  the  future. 

Reports  from  some  of  Margaret's  hearers  show 
us  how  she  appeared  to  them  :  — 

"All  was  said  with  the  most  captivating  ad 
dress  and  grace,  and  with  beautiful  modesty. 
The  position  in  which  she  placed  herself  with 
respect  to  the  rest  was  entirely  lady-like  and 
companionable." 

Another  writer  finds  in  the  seance  "  the  charm 
of  a  Platonic  dialogue,"  without  pretension  or 
pedantry.  Margaret,  in  her  chair  of  leadership, 


1 10  MARGARET  FULLER. 

appeared  positively  beautiful  in  her  intelligent 
enthusiasm.  Even  her  dress  was  glorified  by 
this  influence,  and  is  spoken  of  as  sumptuous, 
although  it  is  known  to  have  been  characterized 
by  no  display  or  attempted  effect. 

In  Margaret's  plan  the  personages  of  the 
Greek  Olympus  were  considered  as  types  of 
various  aspects  of  human  character.  Prome 
theus  became  the  embodiment  of  pure  reason. 
Jupiter  stood  for  active,  Juno  for  passive  will, 
the  one  representing  insistence,  the  other  resist 
ance.  Minerva  pictured  the  practical  power 
of  the  intellect.  Apollo  became  the  symbol  of 
genius,  Bacchus  that  of  geniality.  Venus  was 
instinctive  womanhood,  and  also  a  type  of  the 
Beautiful,  to  the  consideration  of  which  four  con 
versations  were  devoted.  In  a  fifth,  Margaret 
related  the  story  of  Cupid  and  Psyche  in  a  man 
ner  which  indelibly  impressed  itself  upon  the 
minds  of  her  hearers.  Other  conversations  pre 
sented  Neptune  as  circumstance,  Pluto  as  the 
abyss  of  the  undeveloped,  Pan  as  the  glow  and 
play  of  nature,  etc.  Thus  in  picturesque  guise 
the  great  questions  of  life  and  of  character  were 
passed  in  review.  A  fresh  and  fearless  analysis 
of  human  conditions  showed,  as  a  discovery,  the 
grandeur  and  beauty  of  man's  spiritual  inherit 
ance.  All  were  cheered  and  uplifted  by  this 
new  outlook,  sharing  for  the  time  and  perhaps 


CONVERSATIONS  IN  BOSTON.          Ill 

thenceforth  what  Mr.  Emerson  calls  "  the  steady 
elevation  of  Margaret's  aim." 

These  occasions,  so  highly  prized  and  enjoyed, 
sometimes  brought  to  Margaret  their  penalty  in 
the  shape  of  severe  nervous  headache.  During 
one  of  these  attacks  a  friend  expressed  anxiety 
lest  she  should  continue  to  suffer  in  this  way. 
Margaret  replied:  "I  feel  just  now  such  a 
separation  from  pain  and  illness,  such  a  con 
sciousness  of  true  life  while  suffering  most, 
that  pain  has  no  effect  but  to  steal  some  of  my 
time." 

In  accordance  with  the  urgent  desire  of  the 
class  the  conversations  were  renewed  at  the 
beginning  of  the  following  winter,  Margaret  hav 
ing  in  the  mean  time  profited  by  a  season  of 
especial  retirement  which  was  not  without  influ 
ence  upon  her  plan  of  thought  and  of  life.  From 
this  interval  of  religious  contemplation  she  re 
turned  to  her  labors  with  the  feeling  of  a  new 
power.  In  opening  the  first  meeting  of  this 
second  series,  on  November  22,  1840,  Margaret 
spoke  of  great  changes  which  had  taken  place  in 
her  way  of  thinking.  These  were  of  so  deep 
and  sacred  a  character  that  she  could  only  give 
them  a  partial  expression,  which,  however,  suf 
ficed  to  touch  her  hearers  deeply.  "  They  all, 
with  glistening  eyes,  seemed  melted  into  one 
love."  Hearts  were  kindled  by  her  utterance  to 


112  MARGARET  FULLER. 

one  enthusiasm  of  sympathy  which  set  out  of 
sight  the  possibility  of  future  estrangement. 

In  the  conversations  of  this  winter  (1840-41) 
the  fine  arts  held  a  prominent  place. 

Margaret  stated,  at  the  beginning,  that  the 
poetry  of  life  would  be  found  in  the  advance 
"from  objects  to  law,  from  the  circumference  of 
being,  where  we  found  ourselves  at  our  birth,  to 
the  centre."  This  poetry  was  "  the  only  path  of 
the  true  soul,"  life's  prose  being  the  deviation 
from  this  ideal  way.  The  fine  arts  she  con 
sidered  a  compensation  for  this  prose,  which 
appeared  to  her  inevitable.  The  beauties  which 
life  could  not  embody  might  be  expressed  in 
stone,  upon  canvas,  or  in  music  and  verse.  She 
did  not  permit  the  search  for  the  beautiful  to 
transcend  the  limits  of  our  social  and  personal 
duties.  The  pursuit  of  aesthetic  pleasure- might 
lead  us  to  fail  in  attaining  the  higher  beauty. 
A  poetic  life  was  not  the  life  of  a  dilettante. 

Of  sculpture  and  music  she  had  much  to  say, 
placing  them  above  all  other  arts.  Painting 
appeared  to  her  inferior  to  sculpture,  because 
it  represented  a  greater  variety  of  objects,  and 
thus  involved  more  prose.  Several  conversa 
tions  were,  nevertheless,  devoted  to  Painting, 
and  the  conclusion  was  reached  that  color  was 
consecrate  to  passion  and  sculpture  to  thought ; 
while  yet  in  some  sculptures,  like  the  Niobe, 


CONVERSATIONS  IN  BOSTON          113 

for  example,  feeling  was  recognized,  but  on  a 
grand,  universal  scale. 

The  question,  "  What  is  life  ? "  occupied  one 
meeting,  and  brought  out  many  differences  of 
view,  which  Margaret  at  last  took  up  into  a 
higher  ground,  beginning  with  God  as  the  eter 
nally  loving  and  creating  life,  and  recognizing  in 
human  nature  a  kindred  power  of  love  and  of 
creation,  through  the  exercise  of  which  we  also 
add  constantly  to  the  total  sum  of  existence,  and, 
leaving  behind  us  ignorance  and  sin,  become 
godlike  in  the  ability  to  give,  as  well  as  to 
receive,  happiness. 

With  the  work  of  this  winter  was  combined 
a  series  of  evening  meetings,  five  in  number,  to 
which  gentlemen  were  admitted.  Mr.  Emerson 
was  present  at  the  second  of.  these,  and  reports 
it  as  having  been  somewhat  encumbered  "  by  the 
headiness  or  incapacity  of  the  men,"  who,  as 
he  observes,  had  not  been  trained  in  Margaret's 
method. 

Another  chronicler,  for  whose  truth  Mr.  Em 
erson  vouches,  speaks  of  the  plan  of  these  five 
evenings  as  a  very  noble  one.  They  were 
spoken  of  as  Evenings  of  Mythology,  and  Mar 
garet,  in  devising  them,  had  relied  upon  the  more 
thorough  classical  education  of  the  gentlemen  to 
supplement  her  own  knowledge,  acquired  in  a 
less  systematic  way.  In  this  hope  she  was  dis- 


114  MARGARET  FULLER. 

appointed.  The  new-comers  did  not  bring  with 
them  an  erudition  equal  to  hers,  nor  yet  any 
helpful  suggestion  of  ideas.  The  friend  whom 
we  now  quote  is  so  much  impressed  by  Mar 
garet's  power  as  to  say  :  "  I  cannot  conceive  of 
any  species  of  vanity  living  in  her  presence. 
She  distances  all  who  talk  with  her."  Even  Mr. 
Emerson  served  only  to  display  her  powers,  his 
uncompromising  idealism  seeming  narrow  and 
hard  when  contrasted  with  her  glowing  realism.- 
"  She  proceeds  in  her  search  after  the  unity  of 
things,  the  divine  harmony,  not  by  exclusion,  as 
Mr.  Emerson  does,  but  by  comprehension,  and 
so  no  poorest,  saddest  spirit  but  she  will  lead  to 
.hope  and  faith." 

Margaret's  classes  continued  through  six  win 
ters.  The  number  of  those  present  varied  from 
twenty-five  to  thirty.  In  1841-42  the  general 
subject  was  Ethics,  under  which  head  the  Fam 
ily,  the  School,  the  Church,  Society,  and  Litera 
ture  were  all  discussed,  and  with  a  special  ref 
erence  to  "the  influences  on  woman."  In  the 
winter  next  after  this,  we  have  notes  of  the  fol 
lowing  topics  :  Is  the  Ideal  first  or  last,  Divina 
tion  or  Experience  ?  Persons  who  never  awake 
to  Life  in  this  World  ;  Mistakes  ;  Faith  ;  Creeds  ; 
Woman;  Demonology;  Influence;  Roman  Ca 
tholicism  ;  The  Ideal. 

In  the  season  of  1843-44,  a  number  of  themes 


SUMMER   OX  THE  LAKES.  11$ 

were  considered  under  the  general  head  of  Edu 
cation.     Among  these  were  Culture,  Ignorance, 
Vanity,  Prudence,  and  Patience. 
These  happy  labors  came  to  an  end  in  April 

;  :  :::e  •.  e.i:  :  r  ___  •  -..  .  M.ir^i:  .:  ;  •;.:  :=  .'.  ::.  :v.  her 
class  with  many  tokens  of  their  love  and  grati 
tude.  After  speaking  of  affectionate  words, 
beautiful  gifts,  and  rare  flowers,  she  says  :  — 

-  How  noble  has  been  my  experience  of  such 
relations  now  for  six  years,  and  with  so  many 
and  so  various  minds  !  Life  is  worth  living,  is 
it  not  ?  ** 

Margaret  had  answered  Mr.  Mallock's  ques 
tion  before  it  was  asked. 

Margaret's  summer  on  the  Lakes  was  the 
summer  of  1843.  Her  first  records  of  it  date 
from  Niagara,  and  give  her  impressions  of  the 
wonderful  scene,  in  which  the  rapids  impressed 
her  more  than  the  cataract  itself,  whether  seen 


I  walked  down  to 
sland,  and  when  I 
and  saw  a  quarter 


E  g  .V  emotions  overpowered 

me.    A  choking  sensation  rose  to  my  throat,  a 
thrill  rushed  through  my  veins,  my  blood  ran 


Il6  MARGARET  FULLER. 

max  of  the  effect  which  the  falls  produced  upon 
me." 

At  Buffalo  she  embarked  for  a  voyage  on 
Lake  Erie.  Making  a  brief  stop  at  Cleveland, 
the  steamer  passed  on  to  the  St.  Clair  River. 
The  sight  of  an  encampment  of  Indians  on  its 
bank  gave  Margaret  her  first  feeling  of  what  was 
then  "  the  West." 

"  The  people  in  the  boat  were  almost  all  New 
Englanders,  seeking  their  fortunes.  They  had 
brought  with  them  their  cautious  manners,  their 
love  of  polemics.  It  grieved  me  to  hear  Trinity 
and  Unity  discussed  in  the  poor,  narrow,  doc 
trinal  way  on  these  free  waters.  But  that  will 
soon  cease.  There  is  not  time  for  this  clash  of 
opinions  in  the  West,  where  the  clash  of  mate 
rial  interests  is  so  noisy.  They  will  need  the 
spirit  of  religion  more  than  ever  to  guide  them, 
but  will  find  less  time  than  before  for  its  doc 
trine." 

The  following  passage  will  show  us  the  spirit 
which  Margaret  carried  into  these  new  scenes  :  — 

"  I  came  to  the  West  prepared  for  the  distaste 
I  must  experience  at  its  mushroom  growth.  I 
know  that  where  '  Go  ahead  !  '  is  the  motto,  the 
village  cannot  grow  into  the  gentle  proportions 
that  successive  lives  and  the  gradations  of  ex 
perience  involuntarily  give.  .  .  .  The  march  of 
peaceful,  is  scarcely  less  wanton  than  that  of  war- 


SUMMER    ON   THE  LAKES.  1 1/ 

like  invention.  The  old  landmarks  are  broken 
down,  and  the  land,  for  a  season,  bears  none,  ex 
cept  of  the  rudeness  of  conquest  and  the  needs 
of  the  day.  I  have  come  prepared  to  see  all 
this,  to  dislike  it,  but  not  with  stupid  narrowness 
to  distrust  or  defame.  On  the  contrary,  I  trust 
by  reverent  faith  to  woo  the  mighty  meaning  of 
the  scene,  perhaps  to  foresee  the  law  by  which  a 
new  order,  a  new  poetry,  is  to  be  evoked  from 
this  chaos." 

Charles  Dickens's  "American  Notes"  may  have 
been  in  Margaret's  mind  when  she  penned  these 
lines,  and  this  faith  in  her  may  have  been  quick 
ened  by  the  perusal  of  the  pages  in  which  he 
showed  mostly  how  not  to  see  a  new  country. 

Reaching  Chicago,  she  had  her  first  glimpse 
of  the  prairie,  which  at  first  only  suggested  to 
her  "the  very  desolation  of  dulness." 

"  After  sweeping  over  the  vast  monotony  of 
the  Lakes,  to  come  to  this  monotony  of  land,  with 
all  around  a  limitless  horizon  —  to  walk  and  walk, 
but  never  climb  !  How  the  eye  greeted  the  ap 
proach  of  a  sail  or  the  smoke  of  a  steamboat ;  it 
seemed  that  anything  so  animated  must  come 
from  a  better  land,  where  mountains  give  re 
ligion  to  the  scene.  But  after  I  had  ridden  out 
and  seen  the  flowers,  and  observed  the  sun  set 
with  that  calmness  seen  only  in  the  prairies,  and 
the  cattle  winding  slowly  to  their  homes  in  the 


Il8  MARGARET  FULLER. 

'  island  groves,'  most  peaceful  of  sights,  I  began 
to  love,  because  I  began  to  know,  the  scene, 
and  shrank  no  longer  from  the  encircling  vast- 
ness." 

Here  followed  an  excursion  of  three  weeks  in 
a  strong  wagon  drawn  by  a  stalwart  pair  of 
horses,  and  supplied  with  all  that  could  be 
needed,  as  the  journey  was  through  Rock  River 
valley,  beyond  the  regions  of  trade  and  barter. 
Margaret  speaks  of  "  a  guide  equally  admirable 
as  marshal  and  companion."  This  was  none  other 
than  a  younger  brother  of  James  Freeman  Clarke, 
William  Hull  Clarke  by  name,  a  man  who  then 
and  thereafter  made  Chicago  his  home,  and  who 
lived  and  died  an  honored  and  respected  citizen. 
This  journey  with  Margaret,  in  which  his  own 
sister  was  of  the  party,  always  remained  one  of 
the  poetic  recollections  of  his  early  life.  He  had 
suffered  much  from  untoward  circumstances,  and 
was  beginning  to  lose  the  elasticity  of  youth 
under  the  burden  of  his  discouragements.  Mar 
garet's  sympathy  divined  the  depth  and  delicacy 
of  William  Clarke's  character,  and  her  uncon 
querable  spirit  lifted  him  from  the  abyss  of  de 
spondency  into  a  cheerfulness  and  courage  which 
nevermore  forsook  him. 

Returning  to  Chicago,  Margaret  once  more 
embarked  for  lake  travel,  and  her  next  chapter 
describes  Wisconsin,  at  that  time  "a  Territory, 


SUMMER    ON   THE  LAKES.  119 

not  yet  a  State ;  still  nearer  the  acorn  than  we 
were." 

Milwaukee  was  then  a  small  town,  promising, 
as  she  says,  "  to  be,  some  time,  a  fine  one."  The 
yellow  brick,  of  which  she  found  it  mostly  built, 
pleased  her,  as  it  has  pleased  the  world  since. 
No  railroads  with  mysterious  initials  served,  in 
those  days,  the  needs  of  that  vast  region.  The 
steamer,  arriving  once  in  twenty-four  hours, 
brought  mails  and  travellers,  and  a  little  stir 
of  novelty  and  excitement.  Going  a  day's  jour 
ney  into  the  adjacent  country,  Margaret  and  her 
companions  found  such  accommodation  as  is 
here  mentioned:  — 

"  The  little  log-cabin  where  we  slept,  with  its 
flower-garden  in  front,  disturbed  the  scene  no 
more  than  a  lock  upon  a  fair  cheek.  The  hos 
pitality  of  that  house  I  may  well  call  princely  ;  it 
was  the  boundless  hospitality  of  the  heart,  which, 
if  it  has  no  Aladdin's  lamp  to  create  a  palace  for 
the  guest,  does  him  still  greater  service  by  the 
freedom  of  its  bounty  to  the  very  last  drop  of 
its  powers." 

In  the  Western  immigration  Milwaukee  was 
already  a  station  of  importance.  "  Here,  on  the 
pier,  I  see  disembarking  the  Germans,  the  Nor 
wegians,  the  Swedes,  the  Swiss.  Who  knows 
how  much  of  old  legendary  lore,  of  modern  won 
der,  they  have  already  planted  amid  the  Wiscon- 


120  MARGARET  FULLER. 

sin  forests  ?  Soon  their  tales  of  the  origin  of 
things,  and  the  Providence  that  rules  them,  will 
be  so  mingled  with  those  of  the  Indian  that  the 
very  oak-tree  will  not  know  them  apart,  will  not 
know  whether  itself  be  a  Runic,  a  Druid,  or  a 
Winnebago  oak." 

Margaret  reached  the  island  of  Mackinaw  late 
in  August,  and  found  it  occupied  by  a  large 
representation  from  the  Chippewa  and  Ottawa 
tribes,  who  came  there  to  receive  their  yearly 
pension  from  the  Government  at  Washington. 
Arriving  at  night,  the  steamer  fired  some  rock 
ets,  and  ^Margaret  heard  with  a  sinking  heart 
the  wild  cries  of  the  excited  Indians,  and  the 
pants  and  snorts  of  the  departing  steamer.  She 
walked  "with  a  stranger  to  a  strange  hotel," 
her  late  companions  having  gone  on  with  the 
boat.  She  found  such  rest  as  she  could  in  the 
room  which  served  at  once  as  sitting  and  as 
dining  room.  The  early  morning  revealed  to 
her  the  beauties  of  the  spot,  and  with  these  the 
features  of  her  new  neighbors. 

"With  the  first  rosy  streak  I  was  out  among 
my  Indian  neighbors,  whose  lodges  honeycombed 
the  beautiful  beach.  They  were  already  on  the 
alert,  the  children  creeping  out  from  beneath 
the  blanket  door  of  the  lodge,  the  women  pound 
ing  corn  in  their  rude  mortars,  the  young  men 
playing  on  their  pipes.  I  had  been  much  amused, 


SUMMER   ON  THE  LAKES.  121 

when  the  strain  proper  to  the  Winnebago  court 
ing  flute  was  played  to  me  on  another  instru 
ment,  at  any  one's  fancying  it  a  melody.  But 
now,  when  I  heard  the  notes  in  their  true  tone 
and  time,  I  thought  it  not  unworthy  comparison 
with  the  sweetest  bird-song ;  and  this,  like  the 
bird-song,  is  only  practised  to  allure  a  mate. 
The  Indian,  become  a  citizen  and  a  husband,  no 
more  thinks  of  playing  the  flute  than  one  of  the 
settled-down  members  of  our  society  would  of 
choosing  the  purple  light  of  love  as  dyestuff  for 
a  surtout." 

Of  the  island  itself  Margaret  writes  :  — 

"  It  was  a  scene  of  ideal  loveliness,  and  these 
wild  forms  adorned  it,  as  looking  so  at  home  in  it." 

The  Indian  encampment  was  constantly  en 
larged  by  new  arrivals,  which  Margaret  watched 
from  the  window  of  her  boarding-house. 

"  I  was  never  tired  of  seeing  the  canoes  come 
in,  and  the  new  arrivals  set  up  their  temporary 
dwellings.  The  women  ran  to  set  up  the  tent- 
poles  and  spread  the  mats  on  the  ground.  The 
men  brought  the  chests,  kettles,  and  so  on.  The 
mats  were  then  laid  on  the  outside,  the  cedar 
boughs  strewed  on  the  ground,  the  blanket  hung 
up  for  a  door,  and  all  was  completed  in  less  than 
twenty  minutes.  Then  they  began  to  prepare 
the  night  meal,  and  to  learn  of  their  neighbors 
the  news  of  the  day." 


122  MARGARET  FULLER. 

In  these  days,  in  which  a  spasm  of  conscience 
touches  the  American  heart  with  a  sense  of  the 
Vrongs  done  to  the  Indian,  Margaret's  impres 
sions  concerning  our  aborigines  acquire  a  fresh 
interest  and  value.  She  found  them  in  occupa 
tion  of  many  places  from  which  they  have  since 
been  driven  by  what  is  called  the  march  of  civ 
ilization.  We  may  rather  call  it  a  barbarism 
better  armed  and  informed  than  their  own.  She 
also  found  among  their  white  neighbors  the  in 
stinctive  dislike  and  repulsion  which  are  familiar 
to  us.  Here,  in  Mackinaw,  Margaret  could  not 
consort  with  them  without  drawing  upon  herself 
the  censure  of  her  white  acquaintances. 

"Indeed,  I  wonder  why  they  did  not  give  me 
up,  as  they  certainly  looked  upon  me  with  great 
distaste  for  it.  '  Get  you  gone,  you  Indian  dog!' 
was  the  felt,  if  not  the  breathed,  expression 
towards  the  hapless  owners  of  the  soil ;  all  their 
claims,  all  their  sorrows,  quite  forgot  in  abhor 
rence  of  their  dirt,  their  tawny  skins,  and  the 
vices  the  whites  have  taught  them." 

Missionary  zeal  seems  to  have  been  at  a  stand 
still  just  at  this  time,  and  the  hopelessness  of 
converting  those  heathen  to  Christianity  was 
held  to  excuse  further  effort  to  that  end.  Mar 
garet  says  :  — 

"Whether  the  Indian  could,  by  any  efforts  of 
love  and  intelligence,  have  been  civilized  and 


SUMMER    ON  THE  LAKES.  123 

made  a  valuable  ingredient  in  the  new  State,  I 
will  not  say ;  but  this  we  are  sure  of,  the  French 
Catholics  did  not  harm  them,  nor  disturb  their 
minds  merely  to  corrupt  them.  The  French 
they  loved.  But  the  stern  Presbyterian,  \\*ith 
his  dogmas  and  his  task-work,  the  city  circle 
and  the  college,  with  their  niggard  conceptions 
and  unfeeling  stare,  have  never  tried  the  experi 
ment." 

Margaret  naturally  felt  an  especial  interest  in 
observing  the  character  and  condition  of  the 
Indian  women.  She  says,  truly  enough,  "The 
observations  of  women  upon  the  position  of 
woman  are  always  more  valuable  than  those 
of  men." 

Unhappily,  this  is  a  theme  in  regard  to  which 
many  women  make  no  observation  of  their  own, 
and  only  repeat  what  they  have  heard  from  men. 

But  of  Margaret's  impressions  a  few  sentences 
will  give  us  some  idea:  — 

"With  the  women  I  held  much  communica 
tion  by  signs.  They  are  almost  invariably  coarse 
and  ugly,  with  the  exception  of  their  eyes,  with 
a  peculiarly  awkward  gait,  and  forms  bent  by 
burdens.  This  gait,  so  different  from  the  steady 
and  noble  step  of  the  men,  marks  the  inferior 
position  they  occupy." 

Margaret  quotes  from  Mrs.  Schoolcraft  and 
from  Mrs.  Grant  passages  which  assert  that  this 


124  MARGARET  FULLER. 

inferiority  does  not  run  through  the  whole  life 
of  an  Indian  woman,  and  that  the  drudgery  and 
weary  service  imposed  upon  them  by  the  men 
are  compensated  by  the  esteem  and  honor  in 
which  they  are  held.  Still,  she  says  :  — 

"  Notwithstanding  the  homage  paid  to  women, 
and  the  consequence  allowed 'them  in  some  cases, 
it  is  impossible  to  look  upon  the  Indian  women 
without  feeling  that  they  do  occupy  a  lower  place 
than  women  among  the  nations  of  European 
civilization.  .  .  .  Their  decorum  and  delicacy  are 
striking,  and  show  that,  where  these  are  native 
to  the  mind,  no  habits  of  life  make  any  differ 
ence.  Their  whole  gesture  is  timid,  yet  self- 
possessed.  They  used  to  crowd  round  me  to 
inspect  little  things  I  had  to  show  them,  but 
never  press  near  ;  on  the  contrary,  would  reprove 
and  keep  off  the  children.  Anything  they  took 
from  my  hand  was  held  with  care,  then  shut  or 
folded,  and  returned  with  an  air  of  lady-like  pre 
cision." 

And  of  the  aspect  of  the  Indian  question  in 
her  day  Margaret  writes  :  — 

"  I  have  no  hope  of  liberalizing  the  missionary, 
of  humanizing  the  sharks  of  trade,  of  infusing  the 
conscientious  drop  into  the  flinty  bosom  of  policy, 
of  saving  the  Indian  from  immediate  degrada 
tion  and  speedy  death.  .  .  .  Yet,  let  every  man 
look  to  himself  how  far  this  blood  shall  be  re- 


SUMMER    ON  THE  LAKES.  125 

quired  at  his  hands.  Let  the  missionary,  instead 
of  preaching  to  the  Indian,  preach  to  the  trader 
who  ruins  him,  of  the  dreadful  account  which 
will  be  demanded  of  the  followers  of  Cain.  Let 
every  legislator  take  the  subject  to  heart,  and,  if 
he  cannot  undo  the  effects  of  past  sin,  try  for 
that  clear  view  and  right  sense  that  may  save  us 
from  sinning  still  more  deeply." 

Margaret's  days  in  Mackinaw  were  nine  in 
number.  She  went  thence  by  steamer  to  the 
Sault  Ste.  Marie.  On  the  way  thither,  the 
steamer  being  detained  by  a  fog,  its  captain 
took  her  in  a  small  boat  to  visit  the  island  of 
St.  Joseph,  and  on  it,  the  remains  of  an  old 
English  fort.  Her  comments  upon  this  visit,  in 
itself  of  little  interest,  are  worth  quoting  :  — 

"  The  captain,  though  he  had  been  on  this 
trip  hundreds  of  times,  had  never  seen  this  spot, 
and  never  would  but  for  this  fog  and  his  desire  to 
entertain  me.  He  presented  a  striking  instance 
how  men,  for  the  sake  of  getting  a  living,  forget 
to  live.  This  is  a  common  fault  among  the 
active  men,  the  truly  living,  who  could  tell  what 
life  is.  It  should  not  be  so.  Literature  should 
not  be  left  to  the  mere  literati,  eloquence  to  the 
mere  orator.  Every  Caesar  should  be  able  to 
write  hfs  own  Commentary.  We  want  a  more 
equal,  more  thorough,  more  harmonious  develop 
ment,  and  there  is  nothing  to  hinder  the  men 


126  MARGARET  FULLER. 

of  this  country  from  it,  except  their  own  supine- 
ness  or  sordid  views." 

At  the  Sault,  Margaret  found  many  natural 
beauties,  and  enjoyed,  among  other  things,  the 
descent  of  the  rapids  in  a  canoe.  Returning  to 
Mackinaw,  slie  was  joined  by  her  friends,  and 
has  further  chronicled  only  her  safe  return  to 
Buffalo. 

The  book  which  preserves  the  record  of  this 
journey  saw  the  light  at  the  end  of  the  next 
year's  summer.  Margaret  ends  it  with  a  little 
Envoi  to  the  reader.  But  for  us,  the  best  envoi 
will  be  her  own  description  of  the  last  days  of 
its  composition  :  — 

"  Every  day  I  rose  and  attended  to  the  many 
little  calls  which  are  always  on  me,  and  which 
have  been  more  of  late.  Then,  about  eleven, 
I  would  sit  down  to  write  at  my  window,  close 
to  which  is  the  apple-tree,  lately  full  of  blossoms, 
and  now  of  yellow-birds. 

"  Opposite  me  was  Del  Sarto's  Madonna  ;  be 
hind  me,  Silenus,  holding  in  his  arms  the  infant 
Pan.  I  felt  very  content  with  my  pen,  my  daily 
bouquet,  and  my  yellow-birds.  About  five  I 
would  go  out  and  walk  till  dark;  then  would 
arrive  my  proofs,  like  crabbed  old  guardians, 
coming  to  tea  every  night.  So  passed  each 
day.  The  23d  of  May,  my  birthday,  about  one 
o'clock,  I  wrote  the  last  line  of  my  little  book. 


LAST  DAYS  IN  NEW  ENGLAND.       1 27 

Then   I  went    to   Mount   Auburn,   and  walked 
gently  among  the  graves." 

And  here  ends  what  we  have  to  say  about 
Margaret's  New  England  life.  From  its  close 
shelter  and  intense  relations  she  was  now  to 
pass  into  scenes  more  varied  and  labors  of  a 
more  general  scope.  She  had  become  cruelly 
worn  by  her  fatigues  in  teaching  and  in  writing, 
and  in  the  year  1844  was  induced,  by  liberal 
offers,  to  accept  a  permanent  position  on  the  staff 
of  the  "  New  York  Tribune,"  then  in  the  hands 
of  Messrs.  Greeley  and  McElrath.  This  step  in 
volved  the  breaking  of  home  ties,  and  the  dis 
persion  of  the  household  which  Margaret  had 
done  so  much  to  sustain  and  to  keep  together. 
Margaret's  brothers  had  now  left  college,  and 
had  betaken  themselves  to  the  pursuits  chosen 
as  their  life  work.  Her  younger  sister  was 
married,  and  it  was  decided  that  her  mother 
should  divide  her  time  among  these  members 
of  her  family,  leaving  Margaret  free  to  begin  a 
new  season  of  work  under  circumstances  which 
promised  her  greater  freedom  from  care  and 
from  the  necessity  of  unremitting  exertion. 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

FAREWELL  TO  BOSTON. ENGAGEMENT  TO  WRITE  FOR 

THE  "NEW  YORK  TRIBUNE." MARGARET  IN  HER 

NEW  SURROUNDINGS. MR.  GREELEY'S  OPINION'OF 

MARGARET'S  WORK.  —  HER  ESTIMATE  OF  GEORGE 
SAND. 

WHEN  Margaret  stepped  for  the  last  time  across 
the  threshold  of  her  mother's  home,  she  must 
have  had  the  rare  comfort  of  knowing  that  she 
had  clone  everything  in  her  power  to  promote 
the  highest  welfare  of  those  who,  with  her,  had 
shared  its  shelter.  The  children  of  the  house 
hold  had  grown  up  under  her  fostering  care,  nor 
had  she,  in  any  flight  of  her  vivid  imagination, 
forgotten  the  claims  and  needs  of  brothers,  sis 
ter,  or  mother.  So  closely,  indeed,  had  she  felt 
herself  bound  by  the  necessity  of  doing  what  was 
best  for  each  and  all,  that  her  literary  work  had 
not,  in  any  degree,  corresponded  to  her  own  de 
sires.  Her  written  and  spoken  word  had  indeed 
carried  with  it  a  quickening  power  for  good  ;  but 
she  had  not  been  able  so  much  as  to  plan  one  of 
the  greater  works  which  she  considered  herself 
bound  to  produce,  and  which  could  neither  have 


FAREWELL    TO  BOSTON.  129 

been  conceived  nor  carried  out  without  ample 
command  of  time  and  necessary  conditions.  In 
a  letter  written  to  one  of  her  brothers  at  this 
time,  Margaret  says  :  — 

"  If  our  family  affairs  could  now  be  so  arranged 
that  I  might  be  tolerably  tranquil  for  the  next 
six  or  eight  years,  I  should  go  out  of  life  better 
satisfied  with  the  page  I  have  turned  in  it  than 
I  shall  if  I  must  still  toil  on.  A  noble  career  is 
yet  before  me,  if  I  can  be  unimpeded  by  cares.  I 
have  given  almost  all  my  young  energies  to  per 
sonal  relations  ;  but  at  present  I  feel  inclined 
to  impel  the  general  stream  of  thought.  Let  my 
nearest  friends  also  wish  that  I  should  now  take 
share  in  more  public  life." 

The  opening  now  found  for  Margaret  in  New 
York,  though  fortunate,  was  by  no  means  fortui 
tous.  She  had  herself  prepared  the  way  there 
unto  by  her  good  work  in  the  "  Dial."  In  that 
cheerless  editorial  seat  she  may  sometimes,  like 
the  Lady  of  Shalott,  have  sighed  to  see  Sir 
Lancelot  ride  careless  by,  or  with  the  spirit 
of  an  unrecognized  prophet  she  may  have  ex 
claimed,  "  Who  hath  believed  our  report  ?  "  But 
her  word  had  found  one  who  could  hear  it  to 
some  purpose. 

Mr.  Greeley  had  been,  from  the  first,  a  reader 
of  this  periodical,  and  had  recognized  the  fresh 

9 


130  MARGARET  FULLER. 

thought  and  new  culture  which  gave  it  character. 
His  attention  was  first  drawn  to  Margaret  by  an 
essay  of  hers,  published  in  the  July  number  of 
1843,  and  entitled  "The  Great  Lawsuit,  —  Man 
versus  Men,  Woman  versus  Women."  This 
essay,  which  at  a  later  date  expanded  into  the 
volume  known  as  "  Woman  in  the  Nineteenth 
Century,"  struck  Mr.  Greeley  as  "  the  produc 
tion  of  an  original,  vigorous,  and  earnest  mind." 
Margaret's  "  Summer  on  the  Lakes  "  appeared 
also  in  the  "  Dial "  somewhat  later,  and  was  con 
sidered  by  Mr.  Greeley  as  "  unequalled,  especially 
in  its  pictures  of  the  prairies  and  of  the  sunnier 
aspects  of  pioneer  life."  Convinced  of  the  lit 
erary  ability  of  the  writer,  he  gave  ear  to  a 
suggestion  of  Mrs.  Greeley,  and,  in  accordance 
with  her  wishes  and  with  his  own  judgment, 
extended  to  her  the  invitation  already  spoken 
of  as  accepted. 

This  invitation,  and  the  arrangement  to  which 
it  led,  admitted  Margaret  not  only  to  the  columns 
of  the  "  Tribune,"  but  also  to  the  home  of  its  edi 
tor,  in  which  she  continued  to  reside  during  the 
period  of  her  connection  with  the  paper.  This 
home  was  in  a  spacious,  old-fashioned  house  on 
the  banks  of  the  East  River,  completely  secluded 
by  the  adjacent  trees  and  garden,  but  within 
easy  reach  of  New  York  by  car  and  omnibus. 
Margaret  came  there  in  December,  1844, 


MARGARET  IN  NEW   YORK.  131 

was  at  once  struck  with  the  beauty  of  the  scene 
and  charmed  with  the  aspect  of  the  antiquated 
dwelling,  which  had  once,  no  doubt,  been  the 
villa  of  some  magnate  of  old  New  York. 

If  the  outside  world  of  the  time  troubled  itself 
at  all  about  the  Greeley  household,  it  must  have 
considered  it  in  the  light  of  a  happy  family  of 
eccentrics.     Upon  the  personal  peculiarities  of 
Mr.   Greeley  we  need  not  here  enlarge.     They 
were  of  little  account  in   comparison   with   the 
character  of  the  man,  who  himself  deserved  the 
name  which  he  gave  to  his  paper,  and  was  at 
heart  a  tribune  of  the  people.    Mrs.  Greeley  was 
herself  a  woman  of  curious  theories,  and  it  is 
probable  that  Margaret,  in   her  new   surround 
ings,  found  herself  obliged  in  a  certain  degree 
to  represent  the  conventional  side  of  life,  which 
her  host  and  hostess  were  inclined  to  disregard. 
By  Mr.  Greeley's  own  account  there  were  dif 
ferences  between  Margaret  and  himself  regard 
ing  a  great  variety  of  subjects,  including  the  use 
of  tea  and  coffee,  which   he  eschewed  and  to 
which  she  adhered,  and  the  emancipation  of  wo 
men,  to  which  Mr.  Greeley  proposed  to  attach, 
as    a   condition,   the  abrogation    of   such    small 
courtesies  as  are  shown  the  sex  to-day,  while 
Margaret  demanded  a  greater   deference    as    a 
concomitant  of  the  larger  liberty.     Mr.  Greeley 
at  first  determined  to  keep  beyond  the  sphere  of 


132  MARGARET  FULLER. 

Margaret's  fascination,  and  to  burn  no  incense 
at  her  shrine.  She  appeared  to  him  somewhat 
spoiled  by  the  "  Oriental  adoration  "  which  she 
received  from  other  women,  themselves  persons 
of  character  and  of  culture.  Her  foibles  im 
pressed  him  as  much  as  did  the  admirable  quali 
ties  which  he  was  forced  to  recognize  in  her. 
Vain  resolution  !  Living  under  the  same  roof 
with  Margaret,  he  could  not  but  come  to  know 
her,  and,  knowing  her,  he  had  no  choice  but  to 
join  the  throng  of  her  admirers.  To  him,  as 
to  others,  the  blemishes  at  first  discerned  "  took 
on  new  and  brighter  aspects  in  the  light  of  her 
radiant  and  lofty  soul." 

"  I  learned,"  says  Mr.  Greeley,  "  to  know  her 
as  a  most  fearless  and  unselfish  champion  of 
truth  and  human  good  at  all  hazards,  ready  to 
be  their  standard-bearer  through  danger  and 
obloquy,  and,  if  need  be,  their  martyr." 

Mr.  Greeley  bears  witness  also  to  the  fact  that 
this  ready  spirit  of  self-sacrifice  in  Margaret  did 
not  spring  either  from  any  asceticism  of  tem 
perament  or  from  an  undervaluation  of  material 
advantages.  Margaret,  he  thinks,  appreciated 
fully  all  that  riches,  rank,  and  luxury  could  give. 
She  prized  all  of  these  in  their  place,  but  prized 
far  above  them  all  the  opportunity  to  serve  and 
help  her  fellow-creatures. 

The  imperative  drill  of   press-work  was  new 


GREELEY'S  OPINION  OF  HER  WORK.    133 

and  somewhat  irksome  to  her.  She  was  accus 
tomed  indeed  to  labor  in  season  and  out  of  sea 
son,  and  in  so  doing  to  struggle  with  bodily  pain 
and  weariness.  But  to  take  up  the  pen  at  the 
word  of  command,  without  the  interior  bidding 
of  the  divine  afflatus,  was  a  new  necessity,  and 
one  to  which  she  found  it  difficult  to  submit. 
Mr.  Greeley  prized  her  work  highly,  though  with 
some  drawbacks.  He  could  not  always  com 
mand  it  at  will,  for  the  reason  that  she  could 
not.  He  found  her  writing,  however,  terse,  vigo 
rous,  and  practical,  and  considered  her  contri 
butions  to  the  "  Tribune  "  more  solid  in  merit, 
though  less  ambitious  in  scope,  than  her  essays 
written  earlier  for  the  "  Dial."  Margaret  herself 
esteemed  them  but  moderately,  feeling  that  she 
had  taken  up  this  new  work  at  a  time  when  her 
tired  faculties  needed  rest  and  recreation. 

In  a  brief  memorial  of  Margaret,  Mr.  Greeley 
gives  us  the  titles  of  the  most  important  of  these 
papers.  They  are  as  follows  :  "  Thomas  Hood," 
"Edgar  A.  Poe,"  "Capital  Punishment,"  "  Cas- 
sius  M.  Clay,"  "New  Year's  Day,"  "  Christmas," 
"  Thanksgiving,"  "  St.  Valentine's,"  "  Fourth  of 
July,"  "The  First  of  August"  —which  she  com 
memorates  as  the  anniversary  of  slave-emanci 
pation  in  the  British  West  Indies. 

In  looking  over  the  volumes  which  contain 
these  and  many  others  of  Margaret's  collected 


134  MARGARET  FULLER. 

papers,  we  are  carried  back  to  a  time  in  which 
issues  now  long  settled  were  in  the  early  stages 
of  their  agitation,  and  in  which  many  of  those 
whom  we  now  most  revere  in  memory  were  liv 
ing  actors  on  the  stage  of  the  century's  life. 
Hawthorne  and  Longfellow  were  then  young 
writers.  The  second  series  of  Mr.  Emerson's 
"  Essays"  is  noticed  as  of  recent  publication.  At 
the  time  of  her  writing,  it  would  seem  that  Mr. 
Emerson  had  a  larger  circle  of  readers  in  England 
than  in  his  own  country.  She  accounts  for  this 
the  ground  that  "  our  people,  heated  by  a  parti 
san  spirit,  necessarily  occupied  in  these  first  stages 
by  bringing  out  the  material  resources  of  the 
land,  not  generally  prepared  by  early  training  for 
the  enjoyment  of  books  that  require  attention 
and  reflection,  are  still  more  injured  by  a  large 
majority  of  writers  and  speakers  who  lend  all 
their  efforts  to  flatter  corrupt  tastes  and  mental 
indolence."  She  permits  us,  however,  to  "hail 
as  an  auspicious  omen  the  influence  Mr.  Emer 
son  has  obtained  "  in  New  England,  which  she 
recognizes  as  deep-rooted,  and,  over  the  younger 
part  of  the  community,  far  greater  than  that  of 
any  other  person.  She  is  glad  to  introduce  Robert 
Browning  as  the  author  of  "  Bells  and  Pome 
granates"  to  the  American  public.  Mrs.  Brown 
ing  was  then  Miss  Barrett,  in  regard  of  whom 
Margaret  rejoices  that  her  task  is  "  mainly  to 


ESTIMATE   OF  GEORGE  SAND.         135 

express  a  cordial  admiration  !  "  and  says  that  she 
"  cannot  hesitate  to  rank  her,  in  vigor  and  noble 
ness  of  conception,  depth  of  spiritual  experience, 
and  command  of  classic  allusion,  above  any 
female  writer  the  /world  ha^  yet  known."  In 
those  poems  of  hers  .wriich  emulate  Milton  and 
Dante  "  her  success  is  far  below  what  we  find  in 
the  poems  of  feeling  and  experience  ;  for  she  has 
the  vision  of  a  great  poet,  but  little  in  proportion 
of  his  classic  power." 

Margaret  has  much  to  say  concerning  George 
Sand,  and  under  various  heads.  In  her  work 
on  Woman,  she  gives  the  rationale  of  her  strange 
and  anomalous  appearance,  and  is  at  once  very 
just  and  very  tender  in  her  judgments. 

George  Sand  was  then  in  the  full  bloom  of  her 
reputation.  The  light  and  the  shade  of  her  char 
acter,  as  known  to  the  public,  were  at  the  height 
of  their  contrast.  To  the  literary  merit  of  her 
work  was  added  the  interest  of  a  mysterious 
personality,  which  rebelled  against  the  limits  of 
sex,  and,  not  content  to  be  either  man  or  woman, 
touched  with  a  new  and  strange  protest  the  im 
agination  of  the  time. 

The  inexorable  progress  of  events  has  changed 
this,  with  so  much  else.  Youth,  beauty,  sex,  all 
imperial  in  their  day,  are  discrowned  by  the 
dusty  hand  of  Time,  and  ranged  in  the  gallery 
of  the  things  that  were.  George  Sand's  volumes 


136  MARGARET  FULLER. 

still  glow  and  sparkle  on  the  bookshelf ;  but 
George  Sand's  personality  and  her  passions  are 
dim  visions  of  the  past,  and  touch  us  no  longer. 
When  Margaret  wrote  of  her,  the  woman  was 
at  the  zenith  of  her  power,  and  the  intoxication 
of  her  influence  was  so  great  that  a  calm  judgment 
concerning  it  was  difficult.  Like  a  wild  Bac 
chante,  she  led  her  chorus  of  bold  spirits  through 
the  formal  ways  of  French  society,  which  in  her 
view  were  bristling  with  pruriency  and  veiled  with 
hypocrisy.  Like  Margaret's,  her  cry  was,  "  Truth 
at  all  hazards!"  But  hers  was  not  the  ideal 
truth  which  Margaret  followed  so  zealously. 
"  So  vile  are  men,  so  weak  are  women,  so  ruth 
less  is  passion,"  were  the  utterances  of  her  sin 
cerity.  Mistress  of  the  revels,  she  did  indeed 
command  a  new  unmasking  at  the  banquet, 
thoughtless  of  the  risk  of  profaning  innocent 
imaginations  with  sad  facts  which  they  had  no 
need  to.  know,  and  which,  shown  by  such  a  master 
of  art  and  expression,  might  bear  with  them  the 
danger  fabled  in  the  mingled  beauty  and  horror 
of  the  Gorgon's  head. 

George  Sand  was  saved  by  the  sincerity  of  her 
intention.  Her  somnambulic  utterances  had  told 
of  her  good  faith,  and  of  her  belief  in  things  truly 
human  and  divine.  Her  revolutionary  indignation 
was  against  the  really  false  and  base,  and  her  pro 
gress  was  to  a  position  from  which  she  was  able 


ESTIMATE   OF  GEORGE   SAND.        137 

calmly  to  analyze  and  loftily  to  repudiate  the  dis 
orders  in  which  she  was  supposed  to  have  lost 
for  a  time  the  sustaining  power  of  reason  and 
self-command. 

To  those  of  us  who  remember  these  things  in 
the  vividness  of  their  living  presence,  it  is  most 
satisfactory  to  be  assured  of  the  excellence  of 
Margaret's  judgment.  The  great  Frenchwo 
man,  at  the  period  of  which  we  write,  appeared 
to  many  the  incarnation  of  all  the  evil  which  her 
sex  could  represent.  To  those  of  opposite  mind 
she  appeared  the  inspired  prophetess  of  a  new 
era  of  thought  and  of  sentiment.  To  Margaret 
she  was  neither  the  one  nor  the  other.  Much  as 
she  loved  genius,  that  of  George  Sand  could  not 
blind  her  to  the  faults  and  falsities  that  marred 
her  work.  Stern  idealist  as  she  was,  the  most 
objectionable  part  of  Madame  Sand's  record 
could  not  move  her  to  a  moment's  injustice  or 
uncharity  in  her  regard. 

In  "  Woman  in  the  Nineteenth  Century  "  Mar 
garet  says  :  — 

"  George  Sand  smokes,  wears  male  attire, 
wishes  to  be  addressed  as  mon  frire.  Perhaps, 
if  she  found  those  who  were  as  brothers  indeed, 
she  would  not  care  whether  she  were  brother  or 
sister." 

And  concerning  her  writings  :  — 

"This  author,  beginning  like  the  many  in  as- 


138  MARGARET  FULLER. 

sault  upon  bad  institutions  and  external  ills,  yet 
deepening  the  experience  through  comparative 
k  freedom,  sees  at  last  that  the  only  efficient  rem 
edy  must  come  from  individual  character. 

"  The  mind  of  the  age  struggles  confusedly 
with  these  problems,  better  discerning  as  yet  the 
ill  it  can  no  longer  bear  than  the  good  by  which 
it  may  supersede  it.  But  women  like  Sand  will 
speak  now,  and  cannot  be  silenced  ;  their  char 
acters  and  their  eloquence  alike  foretell  an  era 
when  such  as  they  shall  easier  learn  to  lead  true 
lives.  But  though  such  forebode,  not  such  shall 
be  parents  of  it.  Those  who  would  reform  the 
world  must  show  that  they  do  not  speak  in  the 
heat  of  wild  impulse  ;  their  lives  must  be  un 
stained  by  passionate  error.  They  must  be  reli 
gious  students  of  the  Divine  purpose  with  regard 
to  man,  if  they  would  not  confound  the  fancies 
of  a  day  with  the  requisitions  of  eternal  good." 

So  much  for  the  woman  Sand,  as  known  to 
Margaret  through  her  works  and  by  hearsay. 
Of  the  writer  she  first  knew  through  her  "Seven 
Strings  of  the  Lyre,"  a  rhapsodic  sketch.  Mar 
garet  prizes  in  this  "  the  knowledge  of  the  pas 
sions  and  of  social  institutions,  with  the  celestial 
choice  which  was  above  them."  In  the  romances 
"Andre"  and  "Jacques"  she  traces  "the  same 
high  morality  of  one  who  had  tried  the  liberty 
of  circumstance  only  to  learn  to  appreciate  the 


ESTIMATE   OF  GEORGE   SAND.  139 

/liberty  of  law.  .  .  .  Though  the  sophistry  of 
passion  in  these  books  disgusted  me,  flowers  of 
purest  hue  seemed  to  grow  upon  the  dark  and 
dirty  ground.  I  thought  she  had  cast  aside  the 
slough  of  her  past  life,  and  begun  a  new  existence 
beneath  the  sun  of  a  new  ideal."  The  "  Lettres 
d'un  Voyageur "  seem  to  Margaret  shallow,  — 
the  work  of  "  a  frail  woman  mourning  over  her 
lot."  But  when  "  Consuelo  "  appears,  she  feels 
herself  strengthened  in  her  first  interpretation 
of  George  Sand's  true  character,  and  takes  her 
stand  upon  the  "  original  nobleness  and  love  of 
right"  which  even  the  wild  impulses  of  her  fiery 
blood  were  never  able  entirely  to  oversweep.  Of 
the  work  itself  she  says  :  — 

"  To  many  women  this  picture  will  prove  a 
true  consuelo  (consolation),  and  we  think  even 
very  prejudiced  men  will  not  read  it  without 
being  charmed  with  the  expansion,  sweetness, 
and  genuine  force  of  a  female  character  such 
as  they  have  not  met,  but  must,  when  painted, 
recognize  as  possible,  and  may  be  led  to  review 
their  opinions,  and  perhaps  to  elevate  and  enlarge 
their  hopes,  as  to  'woman's  sphere'  and  'wo- 


CHAPTER  IX. 

MARGARET'S  RESIDENCE  AT  THE  GREELEY  MANSION. 

APPEARANCE  IN  NEW  YORK  SOCIETY. VISITS  TO 

WOMEN  IMPRISONED  AT  SING  SING  AND  ON  BLACK- 
WELL'S  ISLAND.  —  LETTERS  TO  HER  BROTHERS.  — 
"  WOMAN  IN  THE  NINETEENTH  CENTURY." ESSAY 

ON  AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  —  VIEW  OF  CONTEMPO 
RARY  AUTHORS. 

WE  have  no  very  full  record  of  Margaret's  life 
beneath  the  roof  of  the  Greeley  mansion.  The 
information  that  we  can  gather  concerning  it 
seems  to  indicate  that  it  was,  on  the  whole,  a 
period  of  rest  and  of  enlargement.  True,  her 
task-work  continued  without  intermission,  and 
her  incitements  to  exertion  were  not  fewer  than 
in  the  past.  But  the  change  of  scene  and  of 
occupation  gives  refreshment,  if  not  repose,  to 
minds  of  such  activity,  and  Margaret,  accus 
tomed  to  the  burden  of  constant  care  and  anxi 
ety,  was  now  relieved  from  much  of  this.  She 
relied  much,  and  with  reason,  both  upon  Mr. 
Greeley's  judgment  and  upon  his  friendship. 
The  following  extract  from  a  letter  to  her 


AT  THE   GREELEY  MANSION.          141 

brother  Eugene  gives  us  an  inkling  as  to  her 
first  impressions:  — 

"  The  place  where  we  live  is  old  and  dilapi 
dated,  but  in  a  situation  of  great  natural  love 
liness.  When  there  I  am  perfectly  secluded, 
yet  every  one  I  wish  to  see  comes  to  see  me, 
and  I  can  get  to  the  centre  of  the  city  in  half 
an  hour.  Here  is  all  affection  for  me  and  de 
sire  to  make  me  at  home  ;  and  I  do  feel  so, 
which  could  scarcely  have  been  expected  from 
such  an  arrangement.  My  room  is  delightful ; 
how  I  wish  you  could  sit  at  its  window  with  me, 
and  see  the  sails  glide  by ! 

"  As  to  the  public  part,  that  is  entirely  satis 
factory.  I  do  just  as  I  please,  and  as  much  and 
as  little  as  I  please,  and  the  editors  express 
themselves  perfectly  satisfied,  and  others  say 
that  my  pieces  tell  to  a  degree  I  could  not 
expect.  I  think,  too,  I  shall  do  better  and  bet 
ter.  I  am  truly  interested  in  this  great  field 
which  opens  before  me,  and  it  is  pleasant  to  be 
sure  of  a  chance  at  half  a  hundred  thousand 
readers." 

The  enlargement  spoken  of  above  was  found 
by  Margaret  in  her  more  varied  field  of  literary 
action,  and  in  the  society  of  a  city  which  had, 
even  at  that  date,  a  cosmopolitan,  semi-European 
character. 

New  York  has  always,  with  a  little  grumbling, 


142  MARGARET  FULLER. 

conceded  to  Boston  the  palm  of  literary  prece 
dence.  In  spite  of  this,  there  has  always  been 
a  good  degree  of  friendly  intercourse  among  its 
busy  litterateurs  and  artists,  who  find,  in  the 
more  vivid  movement  and  wider  market  of  the 
larger  city,  a  compensation,  if  not  an  equivalent, 
for  its  distance  from  the  recognized  centres  of 
intellectual  influence. 

In  these  circles  Margaret  was  not  only  a  wel 
come,  but  a  desired  guest.  In  the  salons  of  the 
time  she  had  the  position  of  a  celebrity.  Here, 
as  elsewhere,  her  twofold  magnetism  strongly 
attracted  some  and  repelled  others.  Somewhat 
hypercritical  and  pedantic  she  was  judged  to  be 
by  those  who  observed  her  at  a  distance,  or 
heard  from  her  only  a  chance  remark.  Such  an 
observer,  admiring  but  not  approaching,  saw  at 
times  the  look  of  the  sibyl  flash  from  beneath 
Margaret's  heavy  eyelids  ;  and  once,  hearing 
her  sigh  deeply  after  a  social  evening,  was  moved 
to  ask  her  why.  "  Alone,  as  usual  !  "  was  Mar 
garet's  answer,  with  one  or  two  pathetic  words, 
the  remembrance  of  which  brought  tears  to 
the  eyes  of  the  person  to  whom  they  were 
spoken. 

In  these  days  she  wrote  in  her  journal :  — 
"  There  comes  a  consciousness  that  I  have  no 
real  hold  on  life, —  no  real,  permanent  connec- 
tion  with  any  soul.     I  seem  a  wandering  Intel- 


VISITS    TO   PRISONERS.  143 

ligence,  driven  from  spot  to  spot,  that  I  may 
learn  all  secrets,  and  fulfil  a  circle  of  knowl 
edge.  This  thought  envelops  me  as  a  cold 
atmosphere." 

From  this  chill  isolation  of  feeling  Margaret 
was  sometimes  relieved  by  the  warm  apprecia 
tion  of  those  whom  she  had  truly  found,  of 
whom  one  could  say  to  her :  "  You  come  like 
one  of  the  great  powers  of  nature,  harmonizing 
with  all  beauty  of  the  soul  or  of  the  earth.  You  v 
cannot  be  discordant  with  anything  that  is  true 
or  deep." 

Other  neighbors,  and  of  a  very  different  char 
acter,  had  Margaret  in  her  new  surroundings. 
The  prisons  at  Blackwell's  Island  were  on  the 
opposite  side  of  the  river,  at  a  distance  easily 
reached  by  boat.  Sing  Sing  prison  was  not  far 
off ;  and  Margaret  accepted  the  invitation  to 
pass  a  Sunday  within  its  walls.  She  had  con 
sorted  hitherto  with  the  elite  of  her  sex,  the 
women  attracted  to  her  having  invariably  been 
of  a  superior  type.  She  now  made  acquaintance 
with  the  outcasts  in  whom  the  elements  of 
womanhood  are  scarcely  recognized.  For  both 
she  had  one  gospel,  that  of  high  hope  and 
divine  love.  She  seems  to  have  found  herself 
as  much  at  home  in  the  office  of  encouraging 
the  fallen,  as  she  had  been  when  it  was  her  duty 
to  arouse  the  best  spirit  in  women  sheltered 


144  MARGARET  FULLER. 

from  the  knowledge  and  experience  of  evil  by 
every  favoring  circumstance. 

This  was  in  the  days  in  which  Judge  Edmonds 
had  taken  great  interest  in  the  affairs  of  the 
prison.  Mrs.  Farnum,  a  woman  of  uncommon 
character  and  ability,  had  charge  of  the  female 
prisoners,  who  already  showed  the  results  of  her 
intelligent  and  kindly  treatment.  On  the  occa 
sion  of  her  first  visit,  Margaret  spoke  with  only 
a  few  of  the  women,  and  says  that  "the  inter 
view  was  very  pleasant.  These  women  were  all 
from  the  lowest  haunts  of  vice,  yet  nothing 
could  have  been  more  decorous  than  their  con 
duct,  while  it  was  also  frank.  All  passed,  in 
deed,  much  as  in  one  of  my  Boston  classes." 

This  last  phrase  may  somewhat  startle  us  ; 
but  it  should  only  assure  us  that  Margaret  had 
found,  in  confronting  two  circles  so  widely  dis 
similar,  the  happy  words  which  could  bring  high 
and  low  into  harmony  with  the  true  divine. 

Margaret's  second  visit  to  the  prison  was  on 
the  Christmas  soon  following.  She  was  invited 
to  address  the  women  in  their  chapel,  and  has 
herself  preserved  some  record  of  her  discourse, 
which  was  extemporaneous.  Seated  at  the  desk, 
no  longer  with  the  critical  air  which  repelled  the 
timid,  but  deeply  penetrated  by  the  pathos  of 
the  occasion,  she  began  with  the  words,  "To 
me  the  pleasant  office  has  been  given  of  wishing 


VISITS   TO  PRISONERS.  145 

you  a  happy  Christmas."  And  the  sad  assem 
bly  smiled,  murmuring  its  thanks.  What  a 
Christ-like  power  was  that  which  brought  this 
sun-gleam  of  a  smile  into  that  dark  tragedy  of 
offence  and  punishment  ! 

Some  passages  of  this  address  must  be  given 
here,  to  show  the  attitude  in  which  this  truly 
noble  woman  confronted  the  most  degraded  of 
her  sex.  After  alluding  to  the  common  opin 
ion  that  "  women  once  lost  are  far  worse  than 
abandoned  men,  and  cannot  be  restored,"  she 
said  :  — 

"  It  is  not  so.  I  know  my  sex  better.  It  is 
because  women  have  so  much  feeling,  and  such 
a  rooted  respect  for  purity,  that  they  seem  so 
shameless  and  insolent  when  they  feel  that  they 
have  erred,  and  that  others  think  ill  of  them. 
When  they  meet  man's  look  of  scorn,  the  des 
perate  passion  that  rises  is  a  perverted  pride, 
which  might  have  been  their  guardian  angel. 
Rather  let  me  say,  which  may  be ;  for  the 
rapid  improvement  wrought  here  gives  us  warm 
hopes." 

Margaret  exhorts  the  prisoners  not  to  be  im 
patient  for  their  release.  She  dwells  upon  their 
weakness,  the  temptations  of  the  outer  world, 
and  the  helpful  character  of  the  influences  which 
are  now  brought  to  bear  upon  them. 

"  Oh,  be  sure  that  you  are  fitted  to  triumph 


146  MARGARET  FULLER. 

over  evil  before  you  again  expose  yourselves  to 
it  !  Instead  of  wasting  your  time  and  strength 
in  vain  wishes,  use  this  opportunity  to  prepare 
yourselves  for  a  better  course  of  life  when  you 
are  set  free." 

The  following  sentences  are  also  noteworthy : 
"  Let  me  warn  you  earnestly  against  acting 
insincerely.  I  know  you  must  prize  the  good 
opinion  of  your  friendly  protectors,  but  do  not 
buy  it  at  the  cost  of  truth.  Try  to  be,  not  to 
seem.  .  .  .  Never  despond,  —  never  say,  '  It  is  too 
late  ! '  Fear  not,  even  if  you  relapse  again  and 
again.  If  you  fall,  do  not  lie  grovelling,  but  rise 
upon  your  feet  once  more,  and  struggle  bravely 
on.  And  if  aroused  conscience  makes  you  suffer 
keenly,  have  patience  to  bear  it.  God  will  not 
let  you  suffer  more  than  you  need  to  fit  you  for 
his  grace.  .  .  .  Cultivate  this  spirit  of  prayer.  I 
do  not  mean  agitation  and  excitement,  but  a  deep 
[_  desire  for  truth,  purity,  and  goodness." 

Margaret  visited  also  the  prisons  on  Black- 
well's  Island,  and,  walking  through  the  women's 
hospital,  shed  the  balm  of  her  presence  upon  the 
most  hardened  of  its  wretched  inmates.  She 
had  always  wished  to  have  a  better  understand 
ing  of  the  feelings  and  needs  of  "those  women 
who  are  trampled  in  the  mud  to  gratify  the  brute 
appetites  of  men,"  in  order  to  lend  them  a  help 
ing  hand. 


LETTERS    TO  HER   BROTHERS.         147 

The  following  extracts  from  letters,  hitherto 
in  great  part  unpublished,  will  give  the  reader 
some  idea  of  Margaret's  tender  love  and  care  for 
the  dear  ones  from  whom  she  was  now  sepa 
rated.  The  letters  are  mostly  addressed  to  her 
younger  brother,  Richard,  and  are  dated  in  vari 
ous  epochs  of  the  year  1845.  One  of  these  re 
calls  her  last  impressions  in  leaving  Boston  :  — 

"  The  last  face  I  saw  in  Boston  was  Anna 
Loring's,  looking  after  me  from  Dr.  Peabody's 
steps.  Mrs.  Peabody  stood  behind  her,  some 
way  up,  nodding  adieux  to  the  'darling,'  as  she 
addressed  me,  somewhat  to  my  emotion.  They 
seemed  like  a  frosty  November  afternoon  and  a 
soft  summer  twilight,  when  night's  glorious  star 
begins  to  shine.  -" 

"  When  you  go  to  Mrs.  Loring's,  will  you  ask 
W.  Story  if  he  has  any  of  Robert  Browning's 
poems  to  lend  me  for  a  short  time  ?  They  shall 
be  returned  safe.  I  only  want  them  a  few  days, 
to  make  some  extracts  for  the  paper.  They  can 
not  be  obtained  here." 

The  following  extracts  refer  to  the  first  ap 
pearance  of  her  book,  "Woman  in  the  Nine 
teenth  Century."  Her  brother  Eugene  had 
found  a  notice  of  it  in  some  remote  spot.  She 
writes  :  — 

"  It  was  pleasant  you  should  see  that  little 
notice  in  that  wild  place.  The  book  is  out,  and 


148  MARGARET  FULLER. 

the  theme  of  all  the  newspapers  and  many  of 
the  journals.  Abuse,  public  and  private,  is  lav 
ished -upon  its  views,  but  respect  is  expressed 
for  me  personally.  But  the  most  speaking  fact, 
and  the  one  which  satisfied  me,  is,  that  the 
whole  edition  was  sold  off  in  a  week  to  the 
booksellers,  and  eighty-five  dollars  handed  to 
me  as  my  share.  Not  that  my  object  was  in 
any  wise  money,  but  I  consider  this  the  sig 
net  of  success.  If  one  can  be  heard,  that  is 
enough." 

In  August,  1845,  sne  writes  thus  to  Richard: 
"  I  really  loathe  my  pen  at  present ;  it  is  en 
tirely  unnatural  to  me  to  keep  at  it  so  in  the 
summer.  Looking  .at  these  dull  blacks  and 
whites  so  much,  when  nature  is  in  her  bright 
colors,  is  a  source  of  great  physical  weariness 
and  irritation.  I  cannot,  therefore,  write  you 
good  letters,  but  am  always  glad  to  get  them. 

"  As  to  what  you  say  of  my  writing  books, 
that  cannot  be  at  present.  I  have  not  health 
and  energy  to  do  so  many  things,  and  find  too 
much  that  I  value  in  my  present  position  to 
give  it  up  rashly  or  suddenly.  But  doubt  not, 
as  I  do  not,  that  Heaven  has  good  things  enough 
for  me  to  do,  and  that  I  shall  find  them  best  by 
not  exhausting  or  overstraining  myself." 

To  Richard  she  writes,  some  months  later :  — 
"  I  have  to-day  the   unexpected   pleasure  of 


LETTERS  TO  HER  BROTHERS.    149 

receiving  from  England  a  neat  copy  of  '  Woman 
in  the  Nineteenth  Century/  republished  there  in 
Clark's  '  Cabinet  Library.'  I  had  never  heard  a 
word  about  it  from  England,  and  am  very  glad 
to  find  it  will  be  read  by  women  there.  As  to 
advantage  to  me,  the  republication  will  bring  me 
no  money,  but  will  be  of  use  to  me  here,  as  our 
dear  country  folks  look  anxiously  for  verdicts 
from  the  other  side  of  the  water. 

"  I  shall  get  out  a  second  edition  before  long, 
I  hope ;  and  wish  you  would  translate  for  me, 
and  send  those  other  parts  of  the  story  of  '  Pan- 
thea'  you  thought  I  might  like." 

The  extract  subjoined  will  show  Margaret's 
anxious  thought  concerning  her  mother's  com 
fort  and  welfare.  It  is  addressed  to  the  same 
brother,  whom  she  thus  admonishes  :  — 

"  She  speaks  of  you  most  affectionately,  but 
happened  to  mention  that  you  took  now  no  in 
terest  in  a  garden.  I  have  known  you  would  do 
what  you  thought  of  to  be  a  good  son,  and  not 
neglect  your  positive  duties;  but  I  have  feared 
you  would  not  show  enough  of  sympathy  with 
her  tastes  and  pursuits.  Care  of  the  garden 
is  a  way  in  which  you  could  give  her  genuine 
comfort  and  pleasure,  while  regular  exercise  in 
it  would  be  of  great  use  to4 yourself.  Do  not 
neglect  this  nor  any  the  most  trifling  attention 
she  may  wish  ;  because  it  is  not  by  attending  to 


150  MARGARET  FULLER. 

our  friends  in  our  way,  but  in  theirs,  that  we 
can  really  avail  them.  Itthink  of  you  much  with 
love  and  pride  and  hope  for  your  public  and 
private  life." 

Margaret's  preface  to  "  Woman  in  the  Nine 
teenth  Century"  bears  the  date  of  November, 
1844.  The  greater  part  of  the  work,  as  has 
already  been  said,  had  appeared  in  the  "  Dial," 
under  a  different  title,  for  which  she  in  this 
place  expresses  a  preference,  as  better  suited  to 
the  theme  she  proposes  to  treat  of.  "Man  versus 
Men,  Woman  versus  Women,"  means  to  her  the 
leading  idea  and  ideal  of  humanity,  as  wronged 
and  hindered  from  development  by  the  thought 
less  and  ignorant  action  of  the  race  itself.  The 
title  finally  given  was  adopted  in  accordance 
with  the  wishes  of  friends,  who  thought  the 
other  wanting  in  clearness.  "  By  man,  I  mean 
both  man  and  woman  :  these  are  the  two  halves 
of  one  thought.  I  lay  no  especial  stress  on  the 
welfare  of  either.  I  believe  that  the  develop 
ment  of  the  one  cannot  be  effected  without  that 
of  the  other." 

In  the  name  of  a  common  humanity,  then, 
Margaret  solicits  from  her  readers  "  a  sincere 
and  patient  attention,"  praying  women  particu 
larly  to  study  for  themselves  the  freedom  which 
the  law  should  secure  to  them.  It  is  this  that 


"WOMAN  IN  THE  19TH  CENTURY:1    151 

she  seeks,  not  to  be  replaced   by  "  the  largest 
extension  of  partial  privileges." 

"  And  may  truth,  unpolluted  by  prejudice, 
vanity,  or  selfishness,  be  granted  daily  more 
and  more,  as  the  due  inheritance  and  only  val 
uable  conquest  for  us  all ! " 

The  leading  thought  formulated  by  Margaret 
in  the  title  of  her  preference  is  scarcely  carried 
out  in  her  work ;  at  least,  not  with  any  system 
atic  parallelism.  Her  study  of  the  position  and 
possibilities  of  woman  is  not  the  less  one  of 
unique  value  and  interest.  The  work  shows 
throughout  the  grasp  and  mastery  of  her  mind. 
Her  faith  in  principles,  her  reliance  upon  them 
in  the  interpretation  of  events,  make  her  strong 
and  bold.  We  do  not  find  in  this  book  one 
careless  expression  which  would  slur  over  the 
smallest  detail  of  womanly  duty,  or  absolve  from 
the  attainment  of  any  or  all  of  the  feminine 
graces.  Of  these,  Margaret  deeply  knows  the 
value.  But,  in  her  view,  these  duties  will  never 
be  noble,  these  graces  sincere,  until  women 
stand  as  firmly  as  men  do  upon  the  ground  of 
/individual  freedom  and  legal  justice.  ^J 

"  If  principles  could  be  established,  particulars 

/  would  adjust  themselves  aright.     Ascertain  the 

/    true   destiny   of    woman  ;    give   her   legitimate 

|    hopes,  and  a  standard  within  herself.  .  .  .  What 

woman  needs  is  not  as  a  woman  to  act  or  rule, 


152  MARGARET  FULLER. 

but  as  a  nature  to  grow,  as  an  intellect  to  dis 
cern,  as  a  soul  to  live  freely  and  unimpeded." 

She  would  have  "  every  arbitrary  barrier 
thrown  down,  every  path  laid  open  to  woman 
as  freely  as  to  man."  And  she  insists  that  this 
"  inward  and  outward  freedom  shall  be  acknowl 
edged  as  a  right,  not  yielded  as  a  concession." 

The  limits  of  our  present  undertaking  do  not 
allow  us  to  give  here  an  extended  notice  of  this 
work,  which  has  long  belonged  to  general  litera 
ture,  and  is,  perhaps,  the  most  widely  known  of 
Margaret's  writings.  We  must,  however,  dwell 
sufficiently  upon  its  merits  to  commend  it  to 
the  men  and  women  of  to-day,  as  equally  inter 
esting  to  both,  and  as  entirely  appropriate  to  the 
standpoint  of  the  present  time. 

Nothing  that  has  been  written  or  said,  in 
later  days,  has  made  its  teaching  superfluous. 
It  demands  all  that  is  asked  to-day  for  women, 
and  that  on  the  broadest  and  most  substantial 
ground.  The  usual  arguments  against  the  eman 
cipation  of  women  from  a  position  of  political 
and  social  inferiority  are  all  carefully  considered 
and  carefully  answered.  Much  study  is  shown  of 
the  prominent  women  of  history,  and  of  the  con 
dition  of  the  sex  at  different  periods.  Much  un 
derstanding  also  of  the  ideal  womanhood,  which 
has  always  had  its  place  in  the  van  of  human 
progress,  and  of  the  actual  womanhood,  which 


"WOMAN  IN  THE  19TH  CENTURY:'    153 

has  mostly  been  bred  and  trained  in  an  opposite 
direction. 

We  have,  then,  in  the  book,  a  thorough  state 
ment,  both  of  the  shortcomings  of  women  them 
selves,  and  of  the  wrongs  which  they  in  turn 
suffer  from  society.  The  cause  of  the  weak 
against  the  strong  is  advanced  with  sound  and 
rational  argument.  We  will  not  say  that  a 
thoughtful  reader  of  to-day  will  indorse  every 
word  of  this  remarkable  treatise.  Its  fervor 
here  and  there  runs  into  vague  enthusiasm,  and 
much  is  asserted  about  souls  and  their  future 
which  thinkers  of  the  present  day  do  not  so 
confidently  assume  to  know. 

The  extent  of  Margaret's  reading  is  shown  in 
her  command  of  historical  and  mythical  illus 
tration.  Her  beloved  Greeks  furnish  her  with 
some  portraits  of  ideal  men  in  relation  with  ideal 
women.  As  becomes  a  champion,  she  knows 
the  friends  arid  the  enemies  of  the  cause  which 
she  makes  her  own.  Here,  for  example,  is  a 
fine  discrimination:  — 

"  The  spiritual  tendency  is  toward  the  eleva 
tion  of  woman,  but  the  intellectual,  by  itself,  is 
not  so.  -JElatO  sometimes  seems  penetrated  by 
that  high  idea  of  love  which  considers  man  and 
woman  as  the  twofold  expression  of  one  thought. 
But  then  again  Plato,  the  man  of  intellect,  treats 
woman  in  the  republic  as  property,  and  in  the 


154  MARGARET  FULLER. 

"  Timaeus  "  says  that  man,  if  he  misuse  the  privi 
leges  of  one  life,  shall  be  degraded  into  the  form 
of  a  woman." 

Margaret  mentions  among  the  women  whom 
she  considered  helpers  and  favorers  of  the  new 
womanhood,  Miss  Edgeworth,  Mrs.  Jameson, 
and  our  own  Miss  Sedgwick.  Among  the 
writers  of  the  other  sex,  whose  theories  point 
to  the  same  end,  she  speaks  of  Swedenborg, 
Fourier,  and  Goethe.  The  first-nam£d  comes  to 
this  through  his  mystical  appreciation  of  spirit 
ual  life ;  the  second,  by  his  systematic  distri 
bution  of  gifts  and  opportunities  according  to 
the  principles  of  ideal  justice.  The  world-wise 
Goethe  everywhere  recognizes  the  presence  and 
significance  of  the  feminine  principle  ;  and,  after 
treating  with  tenderness  and  reverence  its  frail 
est  as  well  as  its  finest  impersonations,  lays  the 
seal  of  all  attraction  in  the  lap  of  the  "  eternal 
womanly." 

Nearer  at  hand,  and  in  the  intimacy  of  per 
sonal  intercourse,  Margaret  found  a  noble  friend 
to  her  cause. 

"  The  late  Dr.  Channing,  whose  enlarged  and 
religious  nature  shared  every  onward  impulse  of 
his  time,  though  his  thoughts  followed  his  wishes 
with  a  deliberative  caution  which  belonged  to 
his  habits  and  temperament,  was  greatly  inter 
ested  in  these  expectations  for  women.  He 


"WOMAN  IN   THE  19 TH   CENTURY."     155 

regarded  them  as  souls,  each  of  which  had  a 
destiny  of  its  own,  incalculable  to  other  minds, 
and  whose  leading  it  must  follow,  guided  by  the 
light  of  a  private  conscience." 

She  tells  us  that  the  Doctor's  delicate  and 
fastidious  taste  was  not  shocked  by  Angelina 
Grimke's  appearance  in  public,  and  that  he 
fully  indorsed  Mrs.  Jameson's  defence  of  her 
sex  "  in  a  way  from  which  women  usually 
shrink,  because,  if  they  express  themselves  on 
such  subjects  with  sufficient  force  and  clearness 
to  do  any  good,  they  are  exposed  to  assaults 
whose  vulgarity  makes  them  painful." 

Margaret  ends  her  treatise  with  a  synopsis  of 
her  humanitarian  creed,  of  which  we  can  here 
give  only  enough  to  show  its  general  scope  and 
tenor.  Here  is  the  substance  of  it,  mostly  in  her 
own  words  :  — 

Man  is  a  being  of  twofold  relations,  —  to  na 
ture  beneath  and  intelligences  above  him.  The 
earth  is  his  school,  God  his  object,  life  and 
thought  his  means  of  attaining  it. 

The  growth  of  man  is  twofold,  —  masculine 
and  feminine.  These  terms,  for  Margaret,  rep 
resent  other  qualities,  to  wit,  Energy  and  Harr 
mony,  Power  and  Beauty,  Intellect  and  Love. 

These  faculties  belong  to  both  sexes,  yet  the 
two  are  distinguished  by  the  preponderance  of 
the  opposing  characteristics. 


1 56  MARGARET  FULLER. 

Were  these  opposites  in  perfect  harmony,  they 
would  respond  to  and  complete  each  other. 

Why  does  this  harmony  not  prevail  ? 

Because,  as  man  came  before  woman,  power 
before  beauty,  he  kept  his  ascendency,  and  en 
slaved  her. 

Woman  in  turn  rose  by  her  moral  power, 
which  a  growing  civilization  recognized. 

Man  became  more  just  and  kind,  but  failed  to 
see  that  woman  was  half  himself,  and  that,  by 
the  laws  of  their  common  being,  he  could  never 
reach  his  true  proportions  while  she  remained 
shorn  of  hers.  And  so  it  has  gone  on  to  our  day. 

Pure  love,  poetic  genius,  and  true  religion 
have  done  much  to  vindicate  and  to  restore  the 
normal  harmony. 

The  time  has  now  come  when  a  clearer  vision 
and  better  action  are  possible,  —  when  man  and 
woman  may  stand  as  pillars  of  one  temple, 
priests  of  one  worship. 

This  hope  should  attain  its  amplest  fruition 
in  our  own  country,  and  will  do  so  if  the  prin 
ciples  from  which  sprang  our  national  life  are 
adhered  to. 

Women  should  now  be  the  best  helpers  of 
women.  Of  men,  we  need  only  ask  the  removal 
of  arbitrary  barriers. 

The  question  naturally  suggests  itself,  What 
use  will  woman  make  of  her  liberty  after  so  many 
ages  of  restraint  ? 


"WOMAN  IN  THE  19TH*  CENTURY."     l$7 

Margaret  says,  in  answer,  that  this  freedom 
will  not  be  immediately  given.  But,  even  if  it 
were  to  come  suddenly,  she  finds  in  her  own 
sex  "  a  reverence  for  decorums  and  limits  inher 
ited  and  enhanced  from  generation  to  genera 
tion,  which  years  of  other  life  could  not  efface." 
She  believes,  also,  that  woman  as  woman  is 
characterized  by  a  native  love  of  proportion,  — 
a  Greek  moderation,  —  which  would  immedi 
ately  create  a  restraining  party,  and  would  grad 
ually  establish  such  rules  as  are  needed  to  guard 
life  without  impeding  it. 

This  opinion  of  Margaret's  is  in  direct  contra 
diction  to  one  very  generally  held  to-day,  namely, 
that  women  tend  more  to  extremes  than  men 
do,  and  are  often  seen  to  exaggerate  to  irrational 
frenzy  the  feelings  which  agitate  the  male  por 
tion  of  the  community.  The  reason  for  this,  if 
honestly  sought,  can  easily  be  found.  Women 
in  whom  the  power  of  individual  judgment  has 
been  either  left  without  training  or  forcibly  sup 
pressed  will  naturally  be  led  by  impulse  and 
enthusiasm,  and  will  be  almost  certain  to  in 
flame  still  further  the  kindled  passions  of  the 
men  to  whom  they  stand  related.  Margaret 
knew  this  well  enough  ;  but  she  had  also  known 
women  of  a  very  different  type,  who  had  trained 
and  disciplined  themselves  by  the  help  of  that 
nice  sense  of  measure  which  belongs  to  any 


158  MARGARET  FULLER. 

normal  human  intelligence,  and  which,  in  wo 
men,  is  easily  reached  and  rendered  active.  It 
was  upon  this  best  and  wisest  womanhood  that 
Margaret  relied  for  the  standard  which  should 
redeem  the  sex  from  violence  and  headlong  ex 
citement.  Here,  as  elsewhere,  she  shows  her 
faith  in  the  good  elements  of  human  nature,  and 
sees  them,  in  her  prophetic  vision,  as  already 
crowned  with  an  enduring  victory. 

"  I  stand  in  the  sunny  noon  of  life.  Objects 
no  longer  glitter  in  the  dews  of  morning,  nei 
ther  are  yet  softened  by  the  shadows  of  even 
ing.  Every  spot  is  seen,  every  chasm  revealed. 
Climbing  the  dusty  hill,  some  fair  effigies  that 
once  stood  for  human  destiny  have  been  broken. 
Yet  enough  is  left  to  point  distinctly  to  the  glo 
ries  of  that  destiny." 

Margaret  gives  us,  as  the  end  of  the  whole 
matter,  this  sentence:  — 

"  Always  the  soul  says  to  us  all,  Cherish  your 
best  hopes  as  a  faith,  and  abide  by  them  in  ac 
tion.  .  .  .  Such  shall  be  the  effectual  fervent 
means  to  their  fulfilment." 

In  this  sunny  noon  of  life  things  new  and 
strange  were  awaiting  Margaret.  Her  days 
among  kindred  and  country-people  were  nearly 
ended.  The  last  volume  given  by  her  to  the 
American  public  was  entitled  "  Papers  on  Art 
and  Literature."  Of  these,  a  number  had  al- 


ESSAY  ON  AMERICAN  LITERATURE.    159 

ready  appeared  in  print.  In  her  preface  she 
mentions  the  essay  on  "American  Literature" 
as  one  now  published  for  the  first  time,  and  also 
as  "  a  very  imperfect  sketch/'  which  she  hopes 
to  complete  by  some  later  utterance.  She  com 
mends  it  to  us,  however,  as  "  written  with  sin 
cere  and  earnest  feelings,  and  from  a  mind  that 
cares  for  nothing  but  what  is  permanent  and 
essential."  She  thinks  it  should,  therefore,  have 
"  some  merit,  if  only  in  the  power  of  sugges 
tion."  It  has  for  us  the  great  interest  of  mak 
ing  known  Margaret's  opinion  of  her  compeers 
in  literature,  and  with  her  appreciation  of  these, 
not  always  just  or  adequate,  her  views  of  the 
noble  national  life  to  which  American  literature, 
in  its  maturer  growth,  should  give  expression. 

Margaret  says,  at  the  outset,  that  "  some 
thinkers  "  may  accuse  her  of  writing  about  a 
thing  that  does  not  exist.  "For,"  says  she,  "it 
does  not  follow,  because  many  books  are  written 
by  persons  born  in  America,  that  there  exists 
an  American  literature.  Books  which  imitate 
or  represent  the  thoughts  and  life  of  Europe  do 
not  constitute  an  American  literature.  Before 
such  can  exist,  an  original  idea  must  animate 
this  nation,  and  fresh  currents  of  life  must  call  i 
into  life  fresh  thoughts  along  its  shores." 

In  reviewing  these  first  sentences,  we  are  led 
to  say  that  they  partly  commend  themselves  to 


160  MARGARET  FULLER. 

our  judgment,  and  partly  do  not.  Here,  as  in 
much  that  Margaret  has  written,  a  solid  truth  is 
'  found  side  by  side  with  an  illusion.  The  state 
ment  that  an  American  idea  should  lie  at  the 
foundation  of  our  national  life  and  its  expres 
sion  is  a  truth  too  often  lost  sight  of  by  those  to 
whom  it  most  imports.  On  the  other  hand,  the 
great  body  of  the  world's  literature  is  like  an 
ocean  in  whose  waves  and  tides  there  is  a  con 
tinuity  which  setsA  at  naught  the  imposition  of 
definite  limits.  Literature  is  first  of  all  human  ; 
and  American  books,  which  express  human 
thought,  feeling,  and  experience,  are  American 
literature,  even  if  they  show  no  distinctive  na 
tional  feature. 

In  what  follows,  Margaret  confesses  that  her 
own  studies  have  been  largely  of  the  classics 
of  foreign  countries.  She  has  found,  she  says, 
a  model  "  in  the  simple  masculine  minds  of  the 
great  Latin  authors."  She  has  observed,  too, 
the  features  of  kindred  between  the  character 
of  the  ancient  Roman  and  that  of  the  Briton  of 
to-day. 

She  remarks  upon  the  reaction  which  was  felt 
in  her  time  against  the  revolutionary  opposition 
to  the  mother  country.  This  reaction,  she  feels, 
may  be  "carried  too  far. 

"What  suits  Great  Britain,  with  her  insular 
position  and  consequent  need  to  concentrate 


ESSAY  ON  AMERICAN  LITERATURE.     l6l 

and  intensify  her  life,  her  limited  monarchy  and 
spirit  of  trade,  does  not  suit  a  mixed  race,  con 
tinually  enriched  (?)  with  new  blood  from  other 
stocks  the  most  unlike  that  of  our  first  descent, 
with  ample  field  and  verge  enough  to  range  in 
and  leave  every  impulse  free,  and  abundant  op 
portunity  to  develop  a  genius  wide  and  full  as 
our  rivers,  luxuriant  and  impassioned  as  our 
vast  prairies,  rooted  in  strength  as  the  rocks  on 
which  the  Puritan  fathers  landed." 

Margaret  anticipates  for  this  Western  hemi 
sphere  the  rise  and  development  of  such  a 
genius,  but  says  that  this  cannot  come  until 
the  fusion  of  races  shall  be  more  advanced,  nor 
"  until  this  nation  shall  attain  sufficient  moral 
and  intellectual  dignity  to  prize  moral  and  intel 
lectual  no  less  highly  than  political  freedom." 

She  finds  the  earnest  of  this  greater  time 
in  the  movements  already  leading  to  social  re 
forms,  and  in  the  "  stern  sincerity  "  of  elect  indi 
viduals,  but  thinks  that  the  influences  at  work 
"  must  go  deeper  before  we  can  have  poets." 

At  the  time  of  her  writing  (1844-45)  sne 
considers  literature  as  in  a  "dim  and  struggling 
state,"  with  "  pecuniary  results  exceedingly  piti 
ful.  The  state  of  things  gets  worse  and  worse, 
as  less  and  less  is  offered  for  works  demanding 
great  devotion  of  time  and  labor,  and  the  pub 
lisher,  obliged  to  regard  the  transaction  as  a 
ii 


162  MARGARET  FULLER. 

matter  of  business,  demands  of  the  author  only 
what  will  find  an  immediate  market,  for  he  can 
not  afford  to  take  anything  else." 

Margaret  thinks  that  matters  were  better  in 
this  respect  during  the  first  half-century  of  our 
republican  existence.  The  country  was  not  then 
"  so  deluged  with  the  dingy  page  reprinted  from 
Europe."  Nor  did  Americans  fail  to  answer 
-sharply  the  question,  "  Who  reads  an  American 
book  ?  "  But  the  books  of  that  period,  to  which 
she  accords  much  merit,  seem  to  her  so  re 
flected  from  England  in  their  thought  and 
inspiration,  that  she  inclines  to  call  them  Eng 
lish  rather  than  American. 

Having  expressed  these  general  views,  Mar 
garet  proceeds  to  pass  in  review  the  prominent 
American  writers  of  the  time,  beginning  with 
the  department  of  history.  In  this  she  accords 
to  Prescott  industry,  the  choice  of  valuable  ma 
terial,  and  the  power  of  clear  and  elegant 
arrangement.  She  finds  his  books,  however, 
"  wonderfully  tame,",  and  characterized  by  "  the 
absence  of  thought."  In  Mr.  Bancroft  she  rec 
ognizes  a  writer  of  a  higher  order,  possessed  of 
"  leading  thoughts,  by  whose  aid  he  groups  his 
facts."  Yet,  by  her  own  account,  she  has 
read  him  less  diligently  than  his  brother  his 
torian. 

In   ethics   and   philosophy  she   mentions,  as 


VIEW  OF  CONTEMPORARY  AUTHORS.     163 

"  likely  to  live  and  be  blessed  and  honored  in  the 
later  time,"  the  names  of  Channing  and  Emer 
son.  Of  the  first  she  says :  "  His  leading  idea 
of  the  dignity  of  human  nature  is  -one  of  vast 
results,  and  the  peculiar  form  in  which  he  ad 
vocated  it  had  a  great  work  to  do  in  this  new 
world.  .  .  .  On  great  questions  he  took  middle 
ground,  and  sought  a  panoramic  view.  .  .  .  He 
was  not  well  acquainted  with  man  on  the  impul 
sive  and  passionate  side  of  his  nature,  so  that 
his  view  of  character  was  sometimes  narrow,  but 
always  noble." 

Margaret  turns  from  the  great  divine  to  her 
Concord  friend  as  one  turns  from  shade  to  sun-, 
shine.  "  The  two  men  are  alike,"  she  says,  "  in 
dignity  of  purpose,  disinterest,  and  purity."  But 
of  the  two  she  recognizes  Mr.  Emerson  as  the 
profound  thinker  and  man  of  ideas,  dealing 
"  with  causes  rather  than  with  effects."  His 
influence  appears  to  her  deep,  not  wide,  but 
constantly  extending  its  circles.  He  is  to  her 
"  a  harbinger  of  the  better  day." 

Irving,  Cooper,  Miss  Sedgwick,  and  Mrs. 
Child  are  briefly  mentioned,  but  with  charac 
teristic  appreciation.  "  The  style  of  story  cur 
rent  in  the  magazines "  is  pronounced  by  her 
"  flimsy  beyond  any  texture  that  was  ever  spun 
or  dreamed  of  by  the  mind  of  man." 

Our  friend  now  devotes  herself  to  the  poets  of 


164  MARGARET  FULLER. 

America,  at  whose  head  she  places  "  Mr.  Bryant, 
alone."  Genuineness  appears  to  be  his  chief 
merit,  in  her  eyes,  for  she  does  not  find  his 
genius  either  fertile  or  comprehensive.  "  But 
his  poetry  is  purely  the  language  of  his  inmost 
nature,  and  the  simple,  lovely  garb  in  which  his 
thoughts  are  arrayed,  a  direct  gift  from  the 
Muse." 

Halleck,  Willis,  and  Dana  receive  each  their 
meed  of  praise  at  her  hands.  Passing  over  what 
is  said,  and  well  said,  of  them,  we  come  to  a  criti 
cism  on  Mr.  Longfellow,  which  is  much  at  vari 
ance  with  his  popular  reputation,  and  which, 
'though  acute  and  well  hit,  will  hardly  commend 
itself  to-day  to  the  judgment  either  of  the 
learned  or  unlearned.  For,  even  if  Mr.  Long 
fellow's  inspiration  be  allowed  to  be  a  reflected 
rather  than  an  original  one,  the  mirror  of  his 
imagination  is  so  pure  and  broad,  and  the  im 
ages  it  reflects  are  so  beautiful,  that  the  world 
of  our  time  confesses  itself  greatly  his  debtor. 
The  spirit  of  his  life,  too,  has  put  the  seal  of  a 
rare  earnestness  and  sincerity  upon  his  legacy 
to  the  world  of  letters.  But  let  us  hear  Marga 
ret's  estimate  of  him  :  — 

"  Longfellow  is  artificial  and  imitative.  He 
borrows  incessantly,  and  mixes  what  he  bor 
rows,  so  that  it  does  not  appear  to  the  best  ad 
vantage.  .  .  .  The  ethical  part  of  his  writing  has 


VIEW  OF   CONTEMPORARY  AUTHORS.    165 

a  hollow,  second-hand  sound.  He  has,  however, 
elegance,  a  love  of  the  beautiful,  and  a  fancy  for 
what  is  large  and  manly,  if  not  a  full  sympathy 
with  it.  His  verse  breathes  at  times  much 
sweetness.  Though  imitative,  he  is  not  me 
chanical." 

In  an  article  of  some  length,  printed  in  con 
nection  with  this,  but  first  published  in  the 
"  New  York  Tribune,"  Margaret's  dispraise  of 
this  poet  is  in  even  larger  proportion  to  her 
scant  commendation  of  him.  This  review  was 
called  forth  by  the  appearance  of  an  illustrated 
edition  of  Mr.  Longfellow's  poems,  most  of 
which  had  already  appeared  in  smaller  volumes, 
and  in  the  Annuals,  which  once  figured  so 
largely  in  the  show-aesthetics  of  society.  Mr. 
Greeley,  in  some  published  reminiscences,  tells 
us  that  Margaret  undertook  this  task  with  great 
reluctance.  He,  on  the  other  hand,  was  too 
much  overwhelmed  with  business  to  give  the 
volume  proper  notice,  and  so  persuaded  Marga 
ret  to  deal  with  it  as  she  could. 

After  formulating  a  definition  of  poetry  which 
she  considers  "  large  enough  to  include  all  ex 
cellence,"  she  laments  the  dearth  of  true  poetry, 
and  asserts  that  "  never  was  a  time  when  satir 
ists  were  more  needed  to  scourge  from  Par 
nassus  the  magpies  who  are  devouring  the  food 
scattered  there  for  the  singing  birds."  This 


1 66  MARGARET  FULLER. 

I  scourge  she  somewhat  exercises  upon  writers 
who  "  did  not  write  because  they  felt  obliged 
to  relieve  themselves  of  the  swelling  thought 
within,  but  as  an  elegant  exercise  which  may 
win  them  rank  and  reputation  above  the  crowd. 
Their  lamp  is  not  lit  by  the  sacred  and  inevita 
ble  lightning  from  above,  but  carefully  fed  by 
their  own  will  to  be  seen  of  men." 

/ These  metaphors  no  longer  express  the  most 

accepted  view  of  poetical  composition.  It  has 
been  found  that  those  who  write  chiefly  to  re 
lieve  themselves  are  very  apt  to  do  so  at  the 
expense  of  the  reading  public.  The  "  inevitable 
lightning,"  with  which  some  are  stricken,  does 
not  lead  to  such  good  work  as  does  the  "  lamp 
carefully  fed  "  by  a  steadfast  will,  whose  tenor 
need  not  be  summarily  judged. 

These  strictures  are  intended  to  apply  to 
versifiers  in  England  as  well  as  in  America. 

"  Yet,"  she  says,  "  there  is  a  middle  class, 
composed  of  men  of  little  original  poetic  power, 
but  of  much  poetic  taste  and  sensibility,  whom 
we  would  not  wish  to  have  silenced.  They  do 
no  harm,  but  much  good  (if  only  their  minds 
are  not  confounded  with  those  of  a  higher  class), 
by  educating  in  others  the  faculties  dominant 
in  themselves."  In  this  class  she  places  Mr. 
Longfellow,  towards  whom  she  confesses  "  a 
coolness,  in  consequence  of  the  exaggerated 


VIEW  OF  CONTEMPORARY  AUTHORS.    167 

praises  that  have  been  bestowed  upon  him." 
Perhaps  the  best  thing  she  says  about  him  is 
that  "  nature  with  him,  whether  human  or  ex 
ternal,  is  always  seen  through  the  windows  of 
literature." 

Mr.  Longfellow  did,  indeed,  dwell  in  the 
beautiful  house  of  culture,  but  with  a  heart 
deeply  sensitive  to  the  touch  of  the  humanity 
that  lay  encamped  around  it.  In  the  "  Psalm  of 
Life,"  his  banner,  blood-red  with  sympathy,  was 
hung  upon  the  outer  wall.  And  all  his  further 
parley  with  the  world  was  through  the  silver 
trumpet  of  peace. 

According  much  praise  to  William  Ellery 
Channing,  and  not  a  little  to  Cornelius  Mat 
thews,  a  now  almost  forgotten  writer,  Margaret 
declares  Mr.  Lowell  to  be  "  absolutely  wanting 
in  the  true  spirit  and  tone  of  poesy."  She  says 
further :  — 

"  His  interest  in  the  moral  questions  of  the 
day  has  supplied  the  want  of  vitality  in  himself. 
His  great  facility  at  versification  has  enabled 
him  to  fill  the  ear  with  a  copious  stream  of 
pleasant  sound.  But  his  verse  is  stereotyped, 
his  thought  sounds  no  depth,  and  posterity  will 
not  remember  him." 

The  "  Biglow  Papers "  were  not  yet  written, 
nor  the  "  Vision  of  Sir  Launfal."  Still  less  was 
foreseen  the  period  of  the  struggle  whose  victori- 


168  MARGARET  FULLER. 

ous  close  drew  from  Mr.  Lowell  a  "  Commemora 
tion  Ode"  worthy  to  stand  beside  Mr.  Emerson's 
"  Boston  Hymn." 

In  presenting  a  study  of  Margaret's  thoughts 
and  life,  it  seemed  to  us  impossible  to  omit  some 
consideration  of  her  pronounced  opinions  con 
cerning  the  most  widely  known  of  her  American 
compeers  in  literature.  Having  brought  these 
before  the  reader,  we  find  it  difficult  to  say  the 
right  word  concerning  them. 

In  accepting  or  rejecting  a  criticism,  we 
should  consider,  first,  its  intention  ;  secondly,  its 
method  ;  and,  in  the  third  place,  its  standard. 
If  the  first  be  honorable,  the  second  legitimate, 
and  the  third  substantial,  we  shall  adopt  the 
conclusion  arrived  at  as  a  just  result  of  analytic 
art. 

In  the  judgments  just  quoted,  we  must  believe 
the  intention  to  have  been  a  sincere  one.  But 
neither  the  method  nor  the  standard  satisfies  us. 
The  one  is  arbitrary,  the  other  unreal.  Our 
friend's  appreciation  of  her  contemporaries  was 
influenced,  at  the  time  of  her  writing,  by  idio 
syncrasies  of  her  own  which  could  not  give  the 
law  to  the  general  public.  These  were  shown 
in  her  great  dislike  of  the  smooth  and  stereo 
typed  in  manner,  and  her  impatience  of  the 
common  level  of  thought  and  sentiment.  The 
unusual  had  for  her  a  great  attraction.  It  prom- 


VIEW  OF  CONTEMPORARY  AUTHORS.    169 

ised  originality,  which  to  her  seemed  a  condi 
tion  of  truth  itself.  She  has  said  in  this  very 
paper :  "  No  man  can  be  absolutely  true  to 
himself,  eschewing  cant,  compromise,  servile 
imitation,  and  complaisance,  without  becoming 
original." 

Here  we  seem  to  find  a  confusion  between 
two  conceptions  of  the  word  "  original."  Origi 
nality  in  one  acceptation  is  vital  and  universal. 
We  originate  from  the  start,  and  do  not  become 
original.  But  the  power  to  develop  forms  of 
thought  which  shall  deserve  to  be  called  original 
is  a  rare  gift,  and  one  which  even  conscience 
cannot  command  at  will. 

The  sentences  here  quoted  and  commentecP7 
on  show  us  that  Margaret,  almost  without  her 
own  knowledge,  was  sometimes  a  partisan  of  the 
intellectual  reaction  of  the  day,  which  attacked, 
in  the  name  of  freedom,  the  fine,  insensible 
tyranny  of  form  and  precedent.  In  its  place 
were  temporarily  enthroned  the  spontaneous 
and  passionate.  Miracles  were  expected  to  fol 
low  this  change  of  base,  oracles  from  children, 
availing  philosophies  from  people  who  were 
rebels  against  all  philosophy.  Margaret's  pas 
sionate  hopefulness  at  times  carried  her  within 
this  sphere,  where,  however,  her  fine  percep 
tions  and  love  of  thorough  culture  did  not  allow 
her  to  remain. 


CHAPTER    X. 

OCEAN     VOYAGE.  ARRIVAL     AT      LIVERPOOL.  THE 

LAKE    COUNTRY.  WORDSWORTH. MISS     MARTI- 

NEAU.  — -  EDINBURGH. DE       QUMsTCEY.  MARY, 

QUEEN     OF     SCOTS.  —  NIGHT     ON     BEN     LOMOND. 

JAMES  MARTINEAU. WILLIAM  J.  FOX. LONDON. — • 

JOANNA  BAILLIE. MAZZINI. THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

—  MARGARET'S  IMPRESSIONS  OF  HIM.  —  HIS  ESTI 
MATE   OF    HER. 

THE  time  had  now  come  when  Margaret's  dar 
ling  wish  was  to  be  fulfilled.  An  opportunity  of 
going  abroad  offered  itself  under  circumstances 
which  she  felt  able  to  accept.  On  the  ist  of 
August,  1846,  she  sailed  for  Europe  in  the 
"  Cambria,"  then  the  favorite  steamer  of  the 
Cunard  line,  with  Captain  Judkins,  the  most 
popular  and  best  known  of  the  company's  com 
manders.  Her  travelling  companions  were  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Marcus  Spring,  of  Eagle  wood,  N.  J. 

She  anticipated  much  from  this  journey, — 
delight,  instruction,  and  the  bodily  view  of  a 
whole  world  of  beauties  which  she  knew,  as  yet, 
only  ideally.  Beyond  and  unguessed  lay  the 


OCEAN    VOYAGE.  IJl 

mysteries  of  fate,  from  whose  depths  she  was 
never  to  emerge  in  her  earthly  form. 

Margaret  already  possessed  the  spirit  of  all 
that  is  most  valuable  in  European  culture.  She 
knew  the  writers  of  the  Old  World  by  study, 
its  brave  souls  by  sympathy,  its  works  of  art, 
more  imperfectly,  through  copies  and  engrav 
ings.  The  Europe  which  she  carried  in  her 
mind  was  not  that  which  the  superficial  ob 
server  sees  with  careless  eyes,  nor  could  it  alto 
gether  correspond  with  that  which  she,  in  her 
careful  and  thoughtful  travel,  would  discern. 
But  the  possession  of  the  European  mind  was 
a  key  destined  to  unlock  for  her  the  true  signifi 
cance  of  European  society. 

The  voyage  was  propitious.  Arriving  in  Eng 
land,  Margaret  visited  the  Mechanics'  Institute 
in  Liverpool,  and  found  the  "  Dial "  quoted  in 
an  address  recently  given  by  its  director.  Sen 
tences  from  the  writings  of  Charles  Sumner  and 
Elihu  Burritt  adorned  the  pages  of  Bradshaw's 
"  Railway  Guide,"  and  she  was  soon  called  upon 
to  note  the  wide  discrepancy  between  the  views 
of  enlightened  Englishmen  and  the  selfish  policy 
of  their  government,  corresponding  to  the  more 
vulgar  passions  and  ambitions  of  the  people  at 
large. 

Passing  into  the  Lake  Country,  she  visited 
Wordsworth  ajt  Ambleside,  and  found  "  no 


172  MARGARET  FULLER. 

Apollo,  flaming  with  youthful  glory,  but,  in 
stead,  a  reverend  old  man,  clothed  in  black,  and 
walking  with  cautious  step  along  the  level  gar 
den  path."  The  aged  poet,  then  numbering 
seventy-six  years,  "  but  of  a  florid,  fair  old  age," 
showed  the  visitors  his  household  portraits,  his 
hollyhocks,  and  his  fuchsias.  His  secluded  mode 
of  life,  Margaret  learned,  had  so  separated  him 
from  the  living  issues  of  the  time,  that  the  needs 
of  the  popular  heart  touched  him  but  remotely. 
She  found 'him,  however,  less  intolerant  than  she 
had  feared  concerning  the  repeal  of  the  Corn 
Laws,  a  measure  upon  which  public  opinion  was 
at  the  time  strongly  divided.  • 

In  this  neighborhood  Margaret  again  saw 
Miss  Martineau,  at  a  new  home  "presented  to 
her  by  the  gratitude  of  England  for  her  course 
of  energetic  and  benevolent  effort."  Dean  Mil- 
man,  historian  and  dramatist,  was  here  intro 
duced  to  Margaret,  who  describes  him  as  "  a 
specimen  of  the  polished,  scholarly  man  of  the 
world." 

Margaret  now  visited  various  places  of  inter 
est  in  Scotland,  and  in  Edinburgh  saw  Dr.  An 
drew  Combe,  Dr.  Chalmers,  and  De  Quincey. 
Dr.  Combe,  an  eminent  authority  in  various  de 
partments  of  medicine  and  physiology,  was  a 
younger  brother  of  George  Combe,  the  distin 
guished  phrenologist.  He  had  much  to  say 


DE   QUINCEY.  173 

about  his  tribulations  with  the  American  pub 
lishers  who  had  pirated  one  of  his  works,  but 
who  refused  to  print  an  emended  edition  of  it, 
on  the  ground  that  the  book  sold  well  enough  as 
it  was.  Margaret  describes  Dr.  Chalmers  as 
"half  shepherd,  half  orator,  florid,  portly,  yet  of 
an  intellectually  luminous  appearance." 

De  Quincey  was  of  the  same  age  as  Words 
worth.  Margaret  finds  his  "  thoughts  and 
knowledge  "  of  a  character  somewhat  super 
seded  by  the  progress  of  the  age.  She  found 
him,  not  the  less,  "  an  admirable  narrator,  not 
rapid,  but  gliding  along  like  a  rivulet  through 
a  green  meadow,  giving  and  taking  a  thousand 
little  beauties  not  required  to  give  his  story  due 
relief,  but  each,  in  itself,  a  separate  boon."  She 
admires,  too,  "  his  urbanity,  so  opposed  to  the 
rapid,  slang,  Vivian-Greyish  style  current  in  the 
literary  conversation  of  the  day." 

Among  Margaret's  meditations  in  Scotland 
was  one  which  she  records  as  "  the  bootless, 
best  thoughts  I  had  while  looking  at  the  dull 
bloodstain  and  blocked-up  secret  stair  of  Holy- 
rood,  at  the  ruins  of  Loch  Leven  Castle,  and 
afterwards  at  Abbotsford,  where  the  picture  of 
Queen  Mary's  head,  as  it  lay  on  the  pillow  when 
severed  from  the  block,  hung  opposite  to  a  fine 
caricature  of  Queen  Elizabeth,  dancing  high  and 
disposedly."  We  give  here  a  part  of  this  medi 
tation  :  — 


174  MARGARET  FULLER. 

"  Surely,  in  all  the  stern  pages  of  life's  account- 
book  there  is  none  on  which  a  more  terrible 
price  is  exacted  for  every  precious  endowment. 
Her  rank  and  reign  only  made  her  powerless  to- 
do  good,  and  exposed  her  to  danger.  Her  tal 
ents  only  served  to  irritate  her  foes  and  dis 
appoint  her  friends.  This  most  charming  of 
women  was  the  destruction  of  her  lovers.  Mar 
ried  three  times,  she  had  never  any  happiness 
as  a  wife,  but  in  both  the  connections  of  her 
choice  found  that  she  had  either  never  pos 
sessed  or  could  not  retain,  even  for  a  few  weeks, 
the  love  of  the  men  she  had  chosen.  ...  A 
mother  twice,  and  of  a  son  and  daughter,  both 
the  children  were  brought  forth  in  loneliness 
and  sorrow,  and  separated  from  her  early,  her 
son  educated  to  hate  her,  her  daughter  at  once 
immured  in  a  convent.  Add  the  eighteen  years 
of  her  imprisonment,  and  the  fact  that  this  fool 
ish,  prodigal  world,  when  there  was  in  it  one 
woman  fitted  by  her  grace  and  loveliness  to 
charm  all  eyes  and  enliven  all  fancies,  suffered 
her  to  be  shut  up  to  water  with  her  tears  her 
dull  embroidery  during  the  full  rose-blossom  of 
her  life,  and  you  will  hardly  get  beyond  this 
story  for  a  tragedy,  not  noble,  but  pallid  and 
forlorn." 

From  Edinburgh  Margaret  and  her  party 
made  an  excursion  into  the  Highlands.  The 


A   NIGHT  ON  BEN  LOMOND.  175 

stage-coach  was  not  yet  displaced  by  the  loco 
motive,  and  Margaret  enjoyed,  from  the  top, 
the  varying  aspect  of  that  picturesque  region. 
Perth,  Loch  Leven,  and  Loch  Katrine  were 
visited,  and  Rowardennan,  the  place  from  which 
the  ascent  of  Ben  Lomond  is  usually  made  by 
travellers.  Margaret  attempted  this  feat  with 
but  one  companion,  and  without  a  guide,  the- 
people  at  the  inn  not  having  warned  her  of  any 
danger  in  so  doing. 

The  ascent  she  found  delightful.  So  magnifi 
cent  was  the  prospect,  that,  in  remembering  it, 
she  said  :  "  Had  that  been,  as  afterwards  seemed 
likely,  the  last  act  of  my  life,  there  could  not 
have  been  a  finer  decoration  painted  on  the  cur 
tain  which  was  to  drop  upon  it." 

The  proverbial  facilis  descensus  did  not  here 
hold  good,  and  the  revocare  gradum  nearly  cost 
Margaret  her  life.  Beginning  to  descend  at  four 
in  the  afternoon,  the  indistinct  path  was  soon 
lost.  Margaret's  companion  left  her  for  a  mo 
ment  in  search  of  it,  and  could  not  find  her. 

"  Soon  he  called  to  me  that  he  had  found  it 
[the  path],  and  I  followed  in  the  direction  where 
he  seemed  to  be.  But  I  mistook,  overshot  it, 
and  saw  him  no  more.  In  about  ten  minutes 
I  became  alarmed,  and  called  him  many  times. 
It  seems  he,  on  his  side,  did  the  same,  but  the 
brow  of  some  hill  was  between  us,  and  we  nei 
ther  saw  nor  heard  one  another." 


MARGARET  FULLER. 


Margaret  now  made  many  attempts  to  extri 
cate  herself  from  her  dangerous  situation,  and 
at  last  attained  a  point  from  which  she  could 
see  the  lake,  and  the  inn  from  which  she  had 
started  in  the  morning.  But  the  mountain  paths 
were  crossed  by  watercourses,  and  hemmed  in 
by  bogs.  After  much  climbing  up  and  down, 
Margaret,  already  wet,  very  weary,  and  thinly 
clad,  saw  that  she  must  pass  the  night  on  the 
mountain.  The  spot  at  which  the  light  forsook 
her  was  of  so  precipitous  a  character  as  to  leave 
her,  in  the  dark,  no  liberty  of  movement.  Yet 
she  did  keep  in  motion  of  some  sort  through  the 
whole  of  that  weary  night  ;  and  this,  she  sup 
poses,  saved  her  life.  The  stars  kept  her  com 
pany  for  two  hours,  when  the  mist  fell  and  hid 
them.  The  moon  rose  late,  and  was  but  dimly 
discernible.  At  length  morning  came,  and  Mar 
garet,  starting  homeward  once  more,  came  upon 
a  company  of  shepherds,  who  carried  her,  ex 
hausted,  to  the  inn,  where  her  distressed  friends 
were  waiting  for  news  of  her.  Such  was  the 
extent  of  the  mountain,  that  a  party  of  twenty 
men,  with  dogs,  sent  in  search  of  the  missing 
one,  were  not  heard  by  her,  and  did  not  hear  her 
voice,  which  she  raised  from  time  to  time,  hoping 
to  call  some,  one  to  her  rescue.  The  strength 
of  Margaret's  much-abused  constitution  was 
made  evident  by  her  speedy  recovery  from  the 


JAMES  MARTINEAU.  1/7 

effects  of  this  severe  exposure.  A  fit  vigil,  this, 
for  one  who  was  about  to  witness  the  scenes 
of  1848.  She  speaks  of  the  experience  as 
"  sublime  indeed,  a  never-to-be-forgotten  pre 
sentation  of  stern,  serene  realities.  ...  I  had 
had  my  grand  solitude,  my  Ossianic  visions, 
and  the  pleasure  of  sustaining  myself."  After 
visiting  Glasgow  and  Stirling,  Margaret  and  her 
friends  returned  to  England  by  Abbotsford  and 
Melrose. 

In  Birmingham  Margaret  heard  two  discourses 
from  George  Dawson,  then  considered  a  young 
man  of  much  promise.  In  Liverpool  she  had 
already  heard  James  Martineau,  and  in  London 
she  listened  to  William  Fox.  She  compares 
these  men  with  William  Henry  Channing  and 
Theodore  Parker :  — 

"  None  of  them  compare  in  the  symmetrical 
arrangement  of  extempore  discourse,  or  in  pure 
eloquence  and  communication  of  spiritual  beauty, 
with  Channing,  nor  in  fulness  and  sustained  flow 
with  Parker." 

Margaret's  estimate  of  Martineau  is  inter 
esting  :  — 

"  Mr.  Martineau  looks  like  the  over-intellect 
ual,  the  partially  developed  man,  and  his  speech 
confirms  this  impression.  He  is  sometimes  con 
servative,  sometimes  reformer,  not  in  the  sense 
of  eclecticism,  but  because  his  powers  and  views 

12 


1/8  MARGARET  FULLER. 

do  not  find  a  true  harmony.  On  the  conserva 
tive  side  he  is  scholarly,  acute  ;  on  the  other, 
pathetic,  pictorial,  generous.  He  is  no  prophet 
and  no  sage,  yet  a  man  full  of  fine  affections 
and  thoughts  ;  always  suggestive,  sometimes 
satisfactory/' 

Mr.  Fox  appears  to  her  "  the  reverse  of  all 
this.  He  is  homogeneous  in  his  materials,  and 
harmonious  in  the  results  he  produces.  He  has 
great  persuasive  power  ;  it  is  the  persuasive 
power  of  a  mind  warmly  engaged  in  seeking 
truth  for  itself/' 

What  a  leap  did  our  Margaret  now  make, 
from  Puritanic  New  England,  Roundhead  and 
Cromvvellian  in  its  character,  into  the  very 
heart  of  Old  England,  —  into  that  London 
which,  in  those  days,  and  for  long  years  after, 
might  have  been  called  the  metropolis  of  the 
world  !  Wonders  of  many  sorts  the  "  province 
in  brick"  still  contains.  Still  does  it  most  as 
tonish  those  who  bring  to  it  the  most  knowledge. 
But  the  social  wonders  which  it  then  could  boast 
have  passed  away,  leaving  no  equals  to  take  their 
place. 

Charles  Dickens  was  then  in  full  bloom,  — 
Thackeray  in  full  bud.  Sydney  Smith  exer 
cised  his  keen,  discreet  wit.  Kenyon  not  only 
wrote  about  pink  champagne,  but  dispensed  it 
with  many  other  good  things.  Rogers  enter- 


LONDON.  1/9 

tained  with  exquisite  taste,  and  showed  his  art- 
treasures  without  ostentation.  Tom  Moore,  like 
a  veteran  canary,  chirped,  but  would  not  sing. 
Lord  Brougham  and  the  Iron  Duke  were  seen 
in  the  House  of  Lords.  Carlyle  growled  and 
imbibed  strong  tea  at  Chelsea.  The  Queen  was 
in  the  favor  of  her  youth,  with  her  handsome 
husband  always  at  her  side.  The  Duchess  of 
Sutherland,  a  beautiful  woman  with  lovely 
daughters,  kept  her  state  at  Stafford  House. 
Lord  Houghton  was  known  as  Monckton  Milnes. 
The  Honorable  Mrs.  Norton  wore  her  dark  hair 
folded  upon  her  classic  head,  beneath  a  circlet 
of  diamonds.  A  first  season  in  London  was 
then  a  bewilderment  of  brilliancy  in  reputations, 
beauties,  and  entertainments.  Margaret  did  not 
encounter  the  season,  but  hoped  to  do  so  at  a 
later  day.  For  the  moment  she  consoled  herself 
thus:- 

"  I  am  glad  I  did  not  at  first  see  all  that  pomp 
and  parade  of  wealth  and  luxury  in  contrast 
with  the  misery  —  squalid,  agonizing,  ruffianly  — 
which  stares  one  in  the  face  in  every  street  of 
London,  and  hoots  at  the  gates  of  her  palaces  a 
note  more  ominous  than  ever  was  that  of  owl 
or  raven  in  .the  portentous  times  when  empires 
and  races  have  crumbled  and  fallen  from  inward 
decay." 

Margaret  expresses  the  hope  that  the  social 


180  MARGARET  FULLER. 

revolution,  which  to  her  seemed  imminent  in 
England,  may  be  a  peaceful  one,  "which  shall 
destroy  nothing  except  the  shocking  inhumanity 
of  exclusiveness."  She  speaks  with  appreciation 
of  the  National  and  Dulwich  Galleries,  the  Brit 
ish  Museum,  the  Zoological  Gardens.  Among 
the  various  establishments  of  benevolence  and 
reform,  she  especially  mentions  a  school  for  poor 
Italian  boys,  with  which  Mazzini  had  much  to 
do.  This  illustrious  man  was  already  an  exile  in 
London,  as  was  the  German  poet,  Freiligrath. 

Margaret  was  an  admirer  of  Joanna  Baillie, 
and  considered  her  and  the  French  Madame 
Roland  as  "  the  best  specimens  hitherto  offered 
of  women  of  a  Roman  strength  and  singleness  of 
mind,  adorned  by  the  various  culture  and  capa 
ble  of  the  various  action  opened  to  them  by  the 
progress  of  the  Christian  idea." 

She  thus  chronicles  her  visit  to  Miss  Baillie : 
"  We  found  her  in  her  little,  calm  retreat  at 
Hampstead,  surrounded  by  marks  of  love  and 
reverence  from  distinguished  and  excellent 
friends.  Near  her  was  the  sister,  older  than 
herself,  yet  still  sprightly  and  full  of  active 
kindness,  whose  character  she  has,  in  one  of  her 
last  poems,  indicated  with  such  a  happy  mixture 
of  sagacity,  humor,  and  tender  pathos,  and  with 
so  absolute  a  truth  of  outline.  Although  no 
autograph  hunter,  I  asked  for  theirs  ;  and  when 


THOMAS   CARLYLE.  l8l 

the  elder  gave  hers  as  '  sister  to  Joanna  Baillie,' 
it  drew  a  tear  from  my  eye,  —  a  good  tear,  a 
genuine  pearl,  fit  homage  to  that  fairest  prod 
uct  of  the  soul  of  man,  humble,  disinterested 
tenderness." 

Margaret  also  visited  Miss  Berry,  the  friend 
of  Horace  Walpole,  long  a  celebrity,  and  at  that 
time  more  than  eighty  years  old.  In  spite  of 
this,  Margaret  found  her  still  characterized  by 
the  charm,  "  careless  nature  or  refined  art," 
which  had  made  her  a  social  power  once  and 
always. 

But  of  all  the  notable  personages  who  might 
have  been  seen  in  the  London  of  that  time,  no 
one  probably  interested  Margaret  so  much  as  did 
Thomas  Carlyle.  Her  introduction  to  him  was 
from  Mr.  Emerson,  his  friend  and  correspond 
ent  ;  and  it  was  such  as  to  open  to  her,  more 
than  once,  the  doors  of  the  retired  and  reserved 
house,  in  which  neither  time  nor  money  was 
lavished  upon  the  entertainment  of  strangers. 

Mr.  Carlyle's  impressions  of  Margaret  have 
now  been  given  to  the  world  in  the  published 
correspondence  of  Carlyle  and  Emerson.  She 
had,  long  before,  drawn  her  portrait  of  him  in 
one  of  her  letters  descriptive  of  London  and  its 
worthies.  The  candid  criticism  of  both  is  full 
of  interest,  and  may  here  be  contrasted.  Mar 
garet  says :  — 


1 82  MARGARET  FULLER. 

"  I  approached  him  with  more  reverence  after 
a  little  experience  of  England  and  Scotland  had 
taught  me  to  appreciate  the  strength  and  height 
of  that  wall  of  shams  and  conventions  which  he, 
more  than  any  other  man,  or  thousand  men, — 
indeed,  he  almost  alone,  —  has  begun  to  throw 
down.  He  has  torn  off  the  veils  from  hideous 
facts  ;  he  has  burnt  away  foolish  illusions  ;  he 
has  touched  the  rocks,  and  they  have  given  forth 
musical  answer.  Little  more  was  wanting  to 
begin  to  construct  the  city  ;  but  that  little  was 
wanting,  and  the  work  of  construction  is  left  to 
those  that  come  after  him.  Nay,  all  attempts 
of  the  kind  he  is  the  readiest  to  deride,  fearing 
new  shams  worse  than  the  old,  unable  to  trust 
the  general  action  of  a  thought,  and  finding  no 
heroic  man,  no  natural  king,  to  represent  it  and 
challenge  his  confidence." 

How  significant  is  this  phrase,  —  "  unable  to 
trust  the  general  action  of  a  thought."  This 
saving  faith  in  the  power  of  just  thought  Car- 
lyle,  the  thinker,  had  not. 

With  a  reverence,  then,  not  blind,  but  dis 
criminating,  Margaret  approached  this  luminous 
mind,  and  saw  and  heard  its  possessor  thus  :  — 

"  Accustomed  to  the  infinite  wit  and  exuber 
ant  richness  of  his  writings,  his  talk  is  still  an 
amazement  and  a  splendor  scarcely  to  be  faced 
with  steady  eyes.  He  does  not  converse,  only 


HER   ESTIMATE   OF  CARLYLE.         183 

harangues.     It  is  the  usual  misfortune  of  such 
marked  men  that  they  cannot  allow  other  minds 
room  to  breathe  and  show  themselves  in  their 
atmosphere,  and  thus  miss  the  refreshment  and, 
instruction  which   the    greatest  never  cease  to  \ 
need  from  the  experience  of  the  humblest.  .  ,~r~^ 
Carlyle,  indeed,  is  arrogant  and  overbearing,  but 
in  his  arrogance  there  is  no  littleness  or  self- 
love  :   it  is   the  heroic   arrogance  of   some   old 
Scandinavian  conqueror  ;  it  is   his  nature,  and 
the  untamable  impulse  that  has  given  him  power 
to  crush  the  dragons. 

"  For  the  higher  kinds  of  poetry  he  has  no 
sense,  and  his  talk  on  that  subject  is  delight 
fully  and  gorgeously  absurd.  .  .  .  He  puts  out 
his  chin  sometimes  till  it  looks  like  the  beak  of 
a  bird  ;  and  his  eyes  flash  bright,  instinctive 
meanings,  like  Jove's  bird.  Yet  he  is  not  calm 
and  grand  enough  for  the  eagle :  he  is  more  like 
the  falcon,  and  yet  not  of  gentle  blood  enough 
for  that  either.  ...  I  cannot  speak  more  nor 
wiselier  of  him  now ;  nor  needs  it.  His  works 
are  true  to  blame  and  praise  him,  —  the  Sieg 
fried  of  England,  great  and  powerful,  if  not  quite 
invulnerable,  and  of  a  might  rather  to  destroy 
evil  than  to  legislate  for  good." 

In  a  letter  to  Mr.  Emerson,  Margaret  gives' 
some  account  of  her  visits  at  the  Carlyle  man 
sion.  The  second  of  these  was  on  the  occasion 


1 84  MARGARET  FULLER. 

of  a  dinner-party,  at  which  she  met  "a  witty, 
French,  flippant  sort  of  a  man,  author  of  a  His 
tory  of  Philosophy,  and  now  writing  a  life  of 
Goethe,"  presumably  George  Lewes.  Margaret 
acknowledges  that  he  told  stones  admirably,  and 
that  his  occasional  interruptions  of  Carlyle's 
persistent  monologue  were  welcome.  Of  this, 
her  summary  is  too  interesting  to  be  omitted 
here :  — 

"  For  a  couple  of  hours  he  was  talking  about 
poetry,  and  the  whole  harangue  was  one  elo 
quent  proclamation  of  the  defects  in  his  own 
mind.  Tennyson  wrote  in  verse  because  the 
schoolmasters  had  taught  him  that  it  was  great 
to  do  so ;  and  had  thus,  unfortunately,  been 
turned  from  the  true  path  for  a  man.  Burns 
had,  in  like  manner,  been  turned  from  his  voca 
tion.  Shakespeare  had  not  had  the  good  sense 
to  see  that  it  would  have  been  better  to  write 
straight  on  in  prose  ;  and  such  nonsense  which, 
though  amusing  enough  at  first,  he  ran  to  death 
after  a  while.  .  .  .  The  latter  part  of  the  evening, 
however,  he  paid  us  for  this  by  a  series  of 
sketches,  in  his  finest  style  of  railing  and  rail 
lery,  of  modern  French  literature.  All  were  de 
preciating  except  that  of  Beranger.  Of  him  he 
spoke  with  perfect  justice,  because  with  hearty 
sympathy." 

The  retirement  of  the  ladies  to  the  drawing- 


HER  ESTIMATE   OF  CARLYLE.  185 

room   afforded   Margaret  an  opportunity  which 
she  had  not  yet  enjoyed. 

"  I  had  afterward  some  talk  with  Mrs.  Car- 
lyle,  whom  hitherto  I  had  only  seen,  —  for  who 
can  speak  while  her  husband  is  there  ?  I  like 
her  very  much  ;  she  is  full  of  grace,  sweetness, 
and  talent.  Her  eyes  are  sad  and  charming." 

Margaret  saw  the  Carlyles  only  once  more. 

"  They  came  to  pass  an  evening  with  us. 
Unluckily,  Mazzini  was  with  us,  whose  society, 
when  he  was  there  alone,  I  enjoyed  more  than 
any.  He  is  a  beauteous  and  pure  music  ;  also, 
he  is  a  dear  friend  of  Mrs.  Carlyle.  But  his  being 
there  gave  the  conversation  a  turn  to  progress 
and  ideal  subjects,  and  Carlyle  was  fluent  in 
invectives  on  all  our  '  rose-water  imbecilities.' 
We  all  felt  distant  from  him,  and  Mazzini,  after 
some  vain  efforts  to  remonstrate,  became  verv 
sad.  Mrs.  Carlyle  said  to  me :  '  These  are  but  | 
opinions  to  Carlyle  ;  but  to  Mazzini,  who  has 
given  his  all,  and  helped  bring  his  friends  to  the 
scaffold  in  pursuit  of  such  subjects,  it  is  a  matter  , 
of  life  and  death.'  " 

Clearly,  Carlyle  had  not,  in  Margaret's  esti 
mation,  the  true  gospel.  She  would  not  bow 
to  the  Titanic  forces,  whether  met  with  in 
the  romances  of  Sand  or  in  his  force-theory. 
And  so,  bidding  him  farewell  with  great  ad 
miration,  she  passes  on,  as  she  says,  "more 


186  MARGARET  FULLER. 

lowly,  more  willing  to  be  imperfect,  since  Fate 
permits  such  noble  creatures,  after  all,  to  be 
only  this  or  that.  Carlyle  is  only  a  lion." 

Carlyle,  on  his  side,  writes  of  her  to  Mr. 
Emerson :  — 

"  Margaret  is  an  excellent  soul :  in  real  regard 
with  both  of  us  here.  Since  she  went,  I  have 
been  reading  some  of  her  papers  in  a  new  Bool: 
we  have  got :  greatly  superior  to  all  I  knew 
before  :  in  fact,  the  undeniable  utterances  (now 
first  undeniable  to  me)  of  a  truly  heroic  mird; 
altogether  unique,  so  far  as  I  know,  among  ';he 
writing  women  of  this  generation  ;  rare  enorgh, 
too,  God  knows,  among  the  writing  men.  She 
is  very  narrow,  sometimes,  but  she  is  truly  high. 
Honor  to  Margaret,  and  more  and  more  good 
speed  to  her." 

At  a  later  day  he  sums  up  his  impressions  of 
her  in  this  wise  :  — 

"  Such  a  predetermination  to  eat  this  big 
Universe  as  her  oyster  or  her  egg,  and  to 
be  absolute  empress  of  all  height  and  glory 
in  it  that  her  heart  could  conceive,  I  have  not 
before  seen  in  any  human  soul.  Her  '  moun 
tain  me,' l  indeed  ;  but  her  courage,  too,  is 
high  and  clear,  her  chivalrous  nobleness  a  toute 
epreuve" 

Margaret's  high  estimate  of  Mazzini  will  be 

1  Quoted  from  Mr.  Emerson's  reminiscences. 


MAZZINL  187 

justified  by  those  who  knew  him  or  knew  of 
him  :  — 

"  Mazzini,  one  of  these  noble  refugees,  is  not 
only  one  of  the  heroic,  the  courageous,  and  the 
faithful, —  Italy  boasts  many  such,  —  but  he  is 
also  one  of  the  wise,  —  one  of  those  who,  disap 
pointed  in  the  outward  results  of  their  under 
takings,  can  yet  'bate  no  jot  of  heart  and  hope/ 
but  must  '  steer  right  onward.'  For  it  was  no 
superficial  enthusiasm,  no  impatient  energies, 
that  impelled  him,  but  an  understanding  of  what 
mist  be  the  designs  of  Heaven  with  regard  to 
mj.n,  since  God  is  Love,  is  Justice.  He  is  one 
of  those  beings  who,  measuring  all  things  by 
the  ideal  standard,  have  yet  no  time  to  mourn 
over  failure  or  imperfection ;  there  is  too  much 
to  be  done  to  obviate  it." 

She  finds  in  his  papers,  published  in  the 
"People's  Journal,"  "the  purity  of  impulse, 
largeness  and  steadiness  of  view,  and  fineness 
of  discrimination  which  must  belong  to  a  legis 
lator  for  a  Christian  commonwealth." 

Much  as  Margaret  admired  the  noble  senti 
ments  expressed  in  Mazzini's  writings,  she  ad 
mired  sti£  more  the  love  and  wisdom  which  led 
the  eminent  patriot  to  found,  with  others,  the 
school  for  poor  Italian  boys  already  spoken  of. 
More  Christ-like  did  she  deem  this  labor  than 
aught  that  he  could  have  said  or  sung. 


1 88  MARGARET  FULLER. 

"  As  among  the  fishermen  and  poor  people  of. 
Judaea  were  picked  up  those  who  have  become 
to  modern  Europe  a  leaven  that  leavens  the 
whole  mass,  so  may  these  poor  Italian  boys 
yet  become  more  efficacious  as  missionaries  to 
their  people  than  would  an  Orphic  poet  at  this 
period." 

At  the  distribution  of  prizes  to  the  school, 
in  which  Mazzini  and  Mariotti  took  part,  some 
of  the  Polish  exiles  also  being  present,  she 
seemed  to  see  "  a  planting  of  the  kingdom  of 
Heaven." 

Margaret  saw  a  good  deal  of  James  Garth 
Wilkinson,  who  later  became  prominent  as  the 
author  of  the  work  entitled  "  The  Human  Body 
in  its  Relation  to  the  Constitution  of  Man." 
She  found  in  him  "  a  sane,  strong,  and  well- 
exercised  mind,  but  in  the  last  degree  unpoeti- 
cal  in  its  structure."  Dr.  Wilkinson  published, 
years  after  this  time,  a  volume  of  verses  which 
amply  sustains  this  judgment. 

"Browning,"  she  writes,  "has  just  married 
Miss  Barrett,  and  gone  to  Italy.  I  may  meet 
them  there."  Hoping  for  a  much  longer  visit  at 
some  future  time,  and  bewildered,  as  she  says, 
both  by  the  treasures  which  she  had  found, 
and  those  which  she  had  not  had  opportunity 
to  explore,  Margaret  left  London  for  its  social 
and  aesthetic  antithesis,  Paris. 


CHAPTER   XL 

PARIS.  —  MARGARET'S  RECEPTION  THERE.  —  GEORGE 

SAND. CHOPIN. RACHEL. LAMENNAIS. BE- 

RANGER. CHAMBER  OF  DEPUTIES. BERRYER. 

BALL    AT   THE    TUILERIES.  ITALIAN  OPERA.  

ALEXANDRE  VATTEMARE. SCHOOLS  AND  REFORM 
ATORIES.  JOURNEY  TO  MARSEILLES.  GENOA. 

LEGHORN. NAPLES. ROME. 

IF  the  aspect  of  London  society  has  changed 
greatly  since  Margaret's  visit  there  in  1846,  the 
Paris  which  she  saw  that  winter  may  be  said  to 
exist  no  longer,  so  completely  is  its  physiognomy 
transformed  by  the  events  of  the  last  thirty-seven 
years.  Like  London,  Paris  had  then  some  gems 
of  the  first  water,  to  which  nothing  in  the  pres 
ent  day  corresponds.  Rachel  was  then  queen  of 
its  tragic  stage,  George  Sand  supreme  in  its  lit 
erary  domain.  De  Balzac,  Eugene  Sue,  Dumas 
ptrey  and  Beranger  then  lived  and  moved  among 
admiring  friends.  Victor  Hugo  was  in  early 
middle  age.  Guizot  was  in  his  full  prestige,  lit 
erary  and  administrative.  Liszt  and  Chopin  held 
the  opposite  poles  of  the  musical  world,  and 


1 90  MARGARET  FULLER. 

wielded,  the  one  its  most  intense,  the  other  its 
broadest  power.  The  civilized  world  then  looked 
to  Paris  for  the  precious  traditions  of  good  taste, 
and  the  city  deserved  this  deference  as  it  does 
not  now. 

The  sense  of  security  which  then  prevailed 
in  the  French  capital  was  indeed  illusory.  The 
stable  basis  of  things  was  already  undermined 
by  the  dangerous  action  of  theories  and  of  think 
ers.  Louis  Philippe  was  unconsciously  nearing 
the  abrupt  close  of  his  reign.  A  new  chaos  was 
imminent,  and  one  out  of  which  was  to  come, 
first  a  heroic  uprising,  and  then  a  despotism  so 
monstrous  and  mischievous  as  to  foredoom  itself, 
a  caricature  of  military  empire  which  for  a  time 
cheated  Europe,  and  in  the  end  died  of  the  empti 
ness  of  its  own  corruption. 

Into  this  Paris  Margaret  came,  not  unan 
nounced.  Her  essay  on  American  Literature, 
which  had  recently  appeared  in  her  volume 
entitled  "  Papers  on  Literature  and  Art,"  had 
already  been  translated  into  French,  and  printed 
in  the  "  Revue  Independante."  The  same  peri 
odical  soon  after  published  a  notice  of  "Woman 
in  the  Nineteenth  Century."  Margaret  enjoyed 
the  comfortable  aspect  of  the  apartment  which 
she  occupied  with  her  travelling-companions  at 
Hotel  Rougemont,  Boulevard  Poissoniere.  She 
mentions  the  clock,  mirror,  curtained  bed,  and 


VISIT  TO   GEORGE  SAND.  191 

small  wood-fire  which  were  then,  and  are  to-day, 
so  costly  to  the  transient  occupant. 

Though  at  first  not  familiar  with  the  sound  of 
the  French  language,  she  soon  had  some  pleas 
ant  acquaintances,  and  was  not  long  in  finding 
her  way  to  the  literary  and  social  eminences  who 
were  prepared  to  receive  her  as  their  peer. 

First  among  these  she  mentions  George  Sand, 
to  whom  she  wrote  a  letter,  calling  afterwards 
at  her  house.  Her  name  was  not  rightly  re 
ported  by  the  peasant  woman  who  opened  the 
door,  and  Margaret,  waiting  for  admittance, 
heard  at  first  the  discouraging  words,  "  Madame 
says  she  does  not  know  you."  She  stopped  to 
send  a  message  regarding  the  letter  she  had 
written,  and  as  she  spoke,  Madame  Sand 
opened  the  door  and  stood  looking  at  her  for 
a  moment. 

"  Our  eyes  met.  I  shall  never  forget  her  look 
at  that  moment.  The  doorway  made  a  frame 
for  her  figure.  She  is  large,  but  well  formed. 
She  was  dressed  in  a  robe  of  dark  violet  silk, 
with  a  black  mantle  on  her  shoulders,  her  beau 
tiful  hair  dressed  with  the  greatest  taste,  her 
whole  appearance  and  attitude,  in  its  simple  and 
lady-like  dignity,  presenting  an  almost  ludicrous 
contrast  to  the  vulgar  caricature  idea  of  George 
Sand.  Her  face  is  a  very  little  like  the  portraits, 
but  much  finer.  The  upper  part  of  the  forehead 


IQ2  MARGARET  FULLER. 

and  eyes  are  beautiful,  the  lower  strong  and 
masculine,  expressive  of  a  hardy  temperament 
and  strong  passions,  but  not  in  the  least  coarse, 
the  complexion  olive,  and  the  air  of  the  whole 
head  Spanish."  This  striking  apparition  was 
further  commended  in  Margaret's  eyes  by  "  the 
expression  of  goodness,  nobleness,  and  power" 
that  characterized  the  countenance  of  the  great 
French-woman. 

Madame  Sand  said,  "  C'est  vous,"  and  offered 
her  hand  to  Margaret,  who,  taking  it,  answered, 
"II  me  fait  du  bien  de  vous  voir"  ("  It  does  me 
good  to  see  you  ").  They  went  into  the  study. 
Madame  Sand  spoke  of  Margaret's  letter  as 
charmante,  and  the  two  ladies  then  talked  on 
for  hours,  as  if  they  had  always  known  each 
other.  Madame  Sand  had  at  that  moment  a 
work  in  the  press,  and  was  hurried  for  copy, 
and  beset  by  friends  and  visitors.  She  kept 
all  these  at  a  distance,  saying  to  Margaret :  "  It 
is  better  to  throw  things  aside,  and  seize  the 
present  moment."  Margaret  gives  this  rtsumt 
of  the  interview :  "  We  did  not  talk  at  all  of  per 
sonal  or  private  matters.  I  saw,  as  one  sees  in 
her  writings,  the  want  of  an  independent,  interior 
life,  but  I  did  not  feel  it  as  a  fault.  I  heartily 
enjoyed  the  sense  of  so  rich,  so  prolific,  so  ar 
dent  a  genius.  I  liked  the  woman  in  her,  too, 
very  much  ;  I  never  liked  a  woman  better." 


CHOPIN.  193 

To  complete  the  portrait,  Margaret  mentions 
the  cigarette,  which  her  new  friend  did  not  re 
linquish  during  the  interview.  The  impression 
received  as  to  character  did  not  materially  differ 
from  that  already  made  by  her  writings.  In 
seeing  her,  Margaret  was  not  led  to  believe 
that  all  her  mistakes  were  chargeable  upon  the 
unsettled  condition  of  modern  society.  Yet  she 
felt  not  the  less  convinced  of  the  generosity  and 
nobleness  of  her  nature.  "  There  may  have 
been  something  of  the  Bacchante  in  her  life," 
says  Margaret,  some  reverting  to  the  wild 
ecstasies  of  heathen  nature-worship,  "  but  she 
was  never  coarse,  never  gross." 

Margaret  saw  Madame  Sand  a  second  time, 
surrounded  by  her  friends,  and  with  her  daugh 
ter,  who  was  then  on  the  eve  of  her  marriage 
with  the  sculptor  Clesinger.  In  this  entou 
rage  she  had  "the  position  of  an  intellectual 
woman  and  good  friend  ;  the  same  as  my 
own,"  says  Margaret,  "in  the  circle  of  my 
acquaintance  as  distinguished  from  my  inti 
mates." 

Beneath  the  same  roof  Margaret  found  Chopin, 
"  always  ill,  and  as  frail  as  a  snow-drop,  but  an 
exquisite  genius.  He  played  to  me,  and  I  liked 
his  talking  scarcely  less."  The  Polish  poet, 
Mickiewicz,  said  to  her,  "  Chopin  gives  us  the 
Ariel  view  of  the  universe." 

13 


194  MARGARET  FULLER. 

Margaret  had  done  her  best  while  in  London 
to  see  what  the  English  stage  had  to  offer.  The 
result  had  greatly  disappointed  her.  In  France 
she  found  the  theatre  living,  and  found  also  a 
public  which  would  not  have  tolerated  "  one 
touch  of  that  stage-strut  and  vulgar  bombast 
of  tone  which  the  English  actor  fancies  indis 
pensable  to  scenic  illusion." 

In  Paris  she  says  that  she  saw,  for  the  first 
time, "  something  represented  in  a  style  uniformly 
good."  Besides  this  general  excellence,  which 
is  still  aimed  at  in  the  best  theatres  of  the  Con 
tinent,  the  Parisian  stage  had  then  a  star  of  the 
first  magnitude,  whose  splendor  was  without  an 
equal,  and  whose  setting  brought  no  successor. 
In  the  supreme  domain  of  tragic  art,  Rachel  then 
reigned,  an  undisputed  queen.  Like  George 
Sand,  her  brilliant  front  was  obscured  by  the 
cloud  of  doubt  which  rested  upon  her  private 
character,  —  a  matter  of  which  even  the  most 
dissolute  age  will  take  note,  after  its  fashion. 
And  yet  the  charmed  barrier  of  the  footlights 
surrounded  her  with  a  flame  of  mystery.  What 
ever  was  known  or  surmised  of  her  elsewhere, 
within  those  limits  she  appeared  as  the  living 
impersonation  of  beauty,  grace,  and  power.  For 
Rachel  had,  at  this  time,  no  public  sorrow.  How 
it  might  fare  with  her  and  her  lovers  little  con 
cerned  the  crowds  who  gathered  nightly,  drawn 


RACHEL.  195 

by  the  lightnings  of  her  eye,  the  melodious  thun 
der  of  her  voice.  Ten  years  later,  a  new  favorite, 
her  rival  but  not  her  equal,  came  to  win  the  heart 
of  her  Paris  from  her.  Then  Rachel,  grieved  and 
angry,  knew  the  vanity  of  all  human  dependence. 
She  crossed  the  ocean,  and  gave  the  New  World 
a  new  delight.  But  in  spite  of  its  laurels  and 
applause,  she  sickened  (Margaret  had  said  she 
could  not  live  long),  and  fled  far,  far  eastward, 
to  hear  in  ancient  Egypt  the  death-psalms  of 
her  people.  With  a  smile,  the  last  change  of 
that  expressive  countenance,  its  lovely  light 
expired. 

Of  the  woman,  Margaret  says  nothing.  Of 
the  artist,  she  says  that  she  found  her  worthy 
of  Greece,  and  fit  to  be  made  immortal  in  its 
marble.  She  did  not,  it  is  true,  find  in  her  the 
most  tender  pathos,  nor  yet  the  sublime  of 
sweetness  :  — • 

"  Her  range,  even  in  high  tragedy,  is  limited. 
Her  noblest  aspect  is  when  sometimes  she  ex 
presses  truth  in  some  severe  shape,  and  rises, 
simple  and  austere,  above  the  mixed  elements 
around  her."  Had  Margaret  seen  her  in  "Les 
Horaces  "  ?  One  would  think  so. 

"On  the  dark  side,  she  is  very  great  in  hatred 
and  revenge.  I  admired  her  more  in  Phedre 
than  in  any  other  part  in  which  I  saw  her. 
The  guilty  love  inspired  by  the  hatred  of  a 


196  MARGARET  FULLER. 

goddess  was  expressed  with  a  force  and  ter 
rible  naturalness  that  almost  suffocated  the 
beholder." 

Margaret  had  heard  much  about  the  power 
which  Rachel  could  throw  into  a  single  look, 
and  speaks  of  it  as  indeed  magnificent.  Yet 
she  admired  most  in  her  "  the  grandeur,  truth, 
and  depth  of  her  conception  of  each  part,  and 
the  sustained  purity  with  which  she  repre 
sented  it." 

In  seeing  other  notabilities,  Margaret  was  in 
deed  fortunate.  She  went  one  day  to  call  upon 
Lamennais,  to  whom  she  brought  a  letter  of  in 
troduction.  To  her  disappointment,  she  found 
him  not  alone.  But  the  "  citizen-looking,  viva 
cious,  elderly  man,"  whom  she  was  at  first  sorry 
to  see  with  him,  turned  out  to  be  the  poet  Be- 
ranger,  and  Margaret  says  that  she  was  "  very 
happy  in  that  little  study,  in  presence  of  these 
two  men  whose  influence  has  been  so  great,  so 
real."  It  was  indeed  a  very  white  stone  that  hit 
two  such  birds  at  one  throw. 

Margaret  heard  a  lecture  from  Arago,  and 
was  not  disappointed  in  him.  "  Clear,  rapid, 
full,  and  equal  was  this  discourse,  and  worthy  of 
the  master's  celebrity." 

The  Chamber  of  Deputies  was  in  those  days 
much  occupied  with  the  Spanish  Marriage,  as  it 
was  called.  This  was  the  intended  betrothal  of 


BALL  AT   THE    TUILERIES.  1 97 

the  Queen  of  Spain's  sister  to  the  Due  de  Mont- 
pensier,  youngest  son  of  the  then  reigning  King 
of  the  French,  Louis  Philippe.  Guizot  and 
Thiers  were  both  heard  on  this  matter,  but  Mar 
garet  heard  only  M.  Berryer,  then  considered 
the  most  eloquent  speaker  of  the  House.  His 
oratory  appeared  to  her,  "  indeed,  very  good  ;  not 
logical,  but  plausible,  with  occasional  bursts  of 
flame  and  showers  of  sparks."  While  admir 
ing  him,  Margaret  thinks  that  her  own  country 
possesses  public  speakers  of  more  force,  and  of 
equal  polish. 

At  a  presentation  and  ball  at  the  Tuileries 
Margaret  was  much  struck  with  the  elegance 
and  grace  of  the  Parisian  ladies  of  high  society. 
The  Queen  made  the  circuit  of  state,  with  the 
youthful  Duchess,  the  cause  of  so  much  dis 
turbance,  hanging  on  her  arm.  Margaret  found 
here  some  of  her  own  country  women,  conspicu 
ous  for  their  beauty.  The  uniforms  and  decora 
tions  of  the  gentlemen  contrasted  favorably,  in 
her  view,  with  the  sombre,  black-coated  masses 
of  men  seen  in  circles  at  home. 

"Among  the  crowd  wandered  Leverrier,  in 
the  costume  of  an  Academician,  looking  as  if  he 
had  lost,  not  found,  his  planet.  He  seemed  not 
to  find  it  easy  to  exchange  the  music  of  the 
spheres  for  the  music  of  fiddles." 

The  Italian  Opera  in  Paris  fell  far  short   of 


I 


198  MARGARET  FULLER. 

Margaret's  anticipations.  So  curtly  does  she 
judge  it,  that  one  wonders  whether  she  expected 
to  find  it  a  true  Parnassus,  dedicated  to  the 
ideal  expression  of  the  most  delicate  and  lofty 
sentiment.  Grisi  appeared  to  her  coarse  and 
shallow,  Persiani  mechanical  and  meretricious, 
Mario  devoid  of  power.  Lablache  alone  satis 
fied  her. 

These  judgments  show  something  of  the 
weakness  of  off-hand  criticism.  In  the  world 
of  art,  the  critic  who  wishes  to  teach,  must  first 
be  taught  of  the  artist.  He  must  be  very  sure 
that  he  knows  what  a  work  of  art  is  before  he 
carps  at  what  it  is  not.  Relying  on  her  own 
great  intelligence,  and  on  her  love  of  beautiful 
things,  Margaret  expected,  perhaps,  to  under 
stand  too  easily  the  merits  and  defects  of  what 
she  saw  and  heard. 

In  Paris  Margaret  met  Alexandre  Vattemare, 
intent  upon  his  project  of  the  exchange  of  su 
perfluous  books  and  documents  between  the  pub 
lic  libraries  of  different  countries.  Busy  as  he 
was,  he  found  time  to  be  of  service  to  her,  and 
it  was  through  his  efforts  that  she  was  enabled 
to  visit  the  Imprimerie  Royale  and  the  Mint. 
He  also  induced  the  Librarian  of  the  Chamber 
of  Deputies  to  show  her  the  manuscripts  of 
Rousseau,  which  she  found  "just  as  he  has  cele 
brated  them,  written  on  fine  white  paper,  tied 


SCHOOLS  AND  REFORMATORIES, 


with  ribbon.  Yellow  and  faded,  age  has  made 
them,"  says  Margaret;  "yet  at  their  touch  I 
seemed  to  feel  the  fire  of  youth,  immortally  glow 
ing,  more  and  more  expansive,  with  which  his 
soul  has  pervaded  this  century." 

M.  Vattemare  introduced  Margaret  to  one  of 
the  evening  schools  of  the  Freres  Chretiens, 
where  she  saw  with  pleasure  how  much  can  be 
accomplished  for  the  working  classes  by  evening 
lessons. 

"  Visions  arose  in  my  mind  of  all  that  might  be 
done  in  our  country  by  associations  of  men  and 
women  who  have  received  the  benefits  of  liter 
ary  culture,  giving  such  evening  lessons  through 
out  our  cities  and  villages."  Margaret  wishes, 
however,  that  such  disinterested  effort  in  our 
own  country  should  not  be  accompanied  by  the 
priestly  robe  and  manner  which  for  her  marred 
the  humanity  of  the  Christian  Brotherhood  of 
Paris. 

The  establishment  of  the  Protestant  Deacon 
esses  is  praised  by  Margaret.  She  visited  also 
the  School  for  Idiots,  near  Paris,  where  her  feel 
ings  vented  themselves  in  "  a  shower  of  sweet 
and  bitter  tears  ;  of  joy  at  what  has  been  done,  of 
grief  for  all  that  I  and  others  possess,  and  can 
not  impart  to  these  little  ones."  She  was  much 
impressed  with  the  character  of  the  master  of 
the  school,  a  man  of  seven  or  eight  and  twenty 


20O    \  MARGARET  FULLER. 

years,  whose  fine  countenance  she  saw  "  looking 
in  love  on  those  distorted  and  opaque  vases  of 
humanity." 

Turning  her  face  southward,  she  thus  takes 
leave  of  the  great  capital :  — 

"  Paris !  I  was  sad  to  leave  thee,  thou  won 
derful  focus,  where  ignorance  ceases  to  be  a 
pain,  because  there  we  find  such  means  daily  to 
lessen  it." 

Railroads  were  few  in  the  France  of  forty 
years  ago.  Margaret  came  by  diligence  and 
boat  to  Lyons,  to'  Avignon,  where  she  waded 
through  the  snow  to  visit  the  tomb  of  Laura, 
-and  to  Marseilles,  where  she  embarked  for 
Genoa.  Her  first  sight  of  this  city  did  not 
disappoint  her,  but  to  her  surprise,  she  found 
the  weather  cold  and  ungenial :  — 

"  I  could  not  realize  that  I  had  actually  touched 
those  shores  to  which  I  had  looked  forward  all 
my  life,  where  it  seemed  that  the  heart  would 
expand,  and  the  whole  nature  be  turned  to  de 
light.  Seen  by  a  cutting  wind,  the  marble  pal 
aces,  the  gardens,  the  magnificent  water-view, 
failed  to  charm."  Both  here  and  in  Leghorn 
Margaret  visited  Italians  at  their  houses,  and 
to  found  them  very  attractive,  "  charming  women, 
*  refined  and  eloquent  men."  The  Mediterranean 
voyage  was  extended  as  far  as  Naples,  which  she 
characterizes  as  "priest-ridden,  misgoverned,  full 


ROME.  201 

of  dirty,  degraded  men  and  women,  yet  still  most 
lovely."  And  here,  after  a  week  which  appeared 
to  be  "an  exact  copy  of  the  miseries  of  a  New- 
England  spring,"  with  a  wind  "  villanous,  horri 
ble,  exactly  like  the  worst  east  wind  of  Boston," 
Margaret  found  at  last  her  own  Italy,  and  found 
it  "beautiful,  worthy  to  be  loved  and  embraced, 
not  talked  about.  .  .  .  Baiae  had  still  a  hid  divin 
ity  for  me,  Vesuvius  a  fresh  baptism  of  fire,  and 
Sorrento  —  oh  !  Sorrento  was  beyond  picture, 
beyond  poesy." 

After  Naples  came  Margaret's  first  view  of 
Rome,  where  she  probably  arrived  early  in  May, 
and  where  she  remained  until  late  in  the  month 
of  June.  We  do  not  find  among  her  letters  of 
this  period  any  record  of  her  first  impressions 
of  the  Eternal  City,  the  approach  to  which,  be 
fore  the  days  of  railroads  in  Italy,  was  unspeak 
ably  impressive  and  solemn. 

Seated  in  the  midst  of  her  seven  hills,  with 
the  desolate  Campagna  about  her,  one  could 
hardly  say  whether  her  stony  countenance  in 
vited  the  spirit  of  the  age,  or  defied  it.  Her 
mediaeval  armor  was  complete  at  all  points.  Her 
heathen  heart  had  kept  Christianity  far  from  it 
by  using  as  exorcisms  the  very  forms  which,  at 
the  birth  of  that  religion,  had  mediated  between 
its  spirit  and  the  dull  sense  of  the  Pagan  world. 
It  was  the  nineteenth  century  in  America,  the 


202  MARGARET  FULLER. 

eighteenth  in  England,  the  seventeenth  in  France, 
and  the  fifteenth  in  Rome.  The  aged  hands  of 
the  grandam  still  held  fast  the  key  of  her  treas 
ures.  Her  haughty  front  still  said  to  Ruin  and 
Desolation,  — 

"  Here  is  my  throne,  bid  kings  come  bow  to  it." 

So  the  writer  first  saw  Rome  in  the  winter 
of  1843.  Her  walls  seemed  those  of  a  mighty 
sepulchre,  in  which  even  the  new-born  babe  was 
born  into  death.  The  stagnation  of  thought,  the 
prohibition  of  question,  the  denial  of  progress  ! 
Her  ministers  had  a  sweet  Lethean  draught  with 
which  to  lull  the  first  clamors  of  awakening  life, 
to  quiet  the  first  promptings  of  individual  thought. 
It  was  the  draught  of  Circe,  fragrant  but  fatal. 
And  those  who  fed  upon  it  became  pathetic 
caricatures  of  humanity. 

Not  so  did  Margaret  find  Rome  in  1847.  The 
intervening  years  had  wrought  a  change.  Within 
the  defiant  fortress  of  superstition  a  divine  acci 
dent  had  happened.  A  man  had  been  brought 
to  the  chair  of  St.  Peter  who  felt  his  own  human 
power  too  strongly  to  consent  to  the  impotence 
of  the  traditional  non  possumus.  To  the  timid 
questioning  of  Freedom  from  without  he  gave 
the  bold  answer  of  Freedom  from  within.  The 
Papal  crown  had  sometimes  covered  the  brows 
of  honest,  heroic  men.  Such  an  one  would  he 


POPE  PIUS.  203 

prove  himself,  and  his  first  message  was  to  that 
effect.  Fortunate,  fatal  error  !  The  thrones  of 
the  earth  trembled  at  it.  Crowned  heads  Shook 
with  the  palsy  of  fear.  The  enslaved  multitudes 
and  their  despised  champions  sent  up  a  ringing 
shout  to  heaven,  for  the  apocalyptic  hour  had 
come.  The  sixth  seal  was  broken,  and  the  can 
non  of  St.  Angelo,  which  saluted  the  crowning 
of  the  new  Pontiff,  really  saluted  the  installa 
tion  of  the  new  era. 

Alas  !  many  woes  had  to  intervene  before 
this  new  order  could  establish  itself  upon  any 
permanent  foundation.  The  Pope  forsook  his 
lofty  ground.  France,  republican  for  a  day  only, 
became  the  ally  of  absolutism,  and  sent  an  army 
to  subdue  those  who  had  believed  the  papal  prom 
ise  and  her  own.  After  a  frightful  interval  of  suf 
fering  and  resistance,  this  was  effected,  and  Pins 
was  brought  back,  shorn  of  his  splendors,  a  Jove 
whose  thunderbolt  had  been  stolen,  a  man  with 
out  an  idea.  Then  came  the  confusion  of  endless 
doubt  and  question.  What  had  been  the  secret 
of  the  Pope's  early  liberalism  ?  What  that  of 
his  volte-face  ?  W^as  it  true,  as  was  afterwards 
maintained,  that  he  had  been,  from  the  first,  a 
puppet,  moved  by  forces  quite  outside  his  own 
understanding,  and  that  the  moving  hands,  not 
the  puppet,  had  changed  ?  Or  had  he  gone  to 
war  with  mighty  Precedent,  without  counting 


204  MARGARET  FULLER. 

the  cost  of  the  struggle,  and  so  failed  ?  Or  had 
he  undergone  a  poisoning  which  broke  his  spirit 
and  touched  his  brain  ? 

These  were  the  questions  of  that  time,  not 
ours  to  answer,  brought  to  mind  here  only  be 
cause  they  belong  to  the  history  of  Margaret's 
years  in  Italy,  years  in  which  she  learned  to  love 
that  country  as  her  own,  and  to  regard  it  as  the 
land  of  her  spiritual  belonging. 


CHAPTER    XII. 

MARGARET'S  FIRST  DAYS  IN  ROME. — ANTIQUITIES. — 
VISITS  TO  STUDIOS  AND  GALLERIES.  HER  OPIN 
IONS  CONCERNING  THE  OLD  MASTERS. HER  SYM 
PATHY  WITH  THE  PEOPLE. POPE  PIUS. CELE 
BRATION  OF  THE  BIRTHDAY  OF  ROME. PERUGIA. 

BOLOGNA.  —  RAVENNA. VENICE.  —  A  STATE  BALL 

ON  THE  GRAND  CANAL.  MILAN.  MANZONI.  

THE  ITALIAN  LAKES. PARMA. —  SECOND  VISIT  TO 

FLORENCE.  —  GRAND  FESTIVAL. 

IN  this  first  visit  to  Rome,  Margaret  could  not 
avoid  some  touch  of  the  disenchantment  which 
usually  comes  with  the  experience  of  what  has 
been  long  and  fondly  anticipated.  She  had  soon 
seen  all  that  is  preserved  of  "  the  fragments  of 
the  great  time,"  and  says  :  "  They  are  many  and 
precious  ;  yet  is  there  not  so  much  of  high  ex 
cellence  as  I  looked  for.  They  will  not  float  the 
heart  on  a  boundless  sea  of  feeling,  like  the  starry 
night  on  our  Western  "prairies."  She  confesses 
herself  more  interested  at  this  moment  in  the 
condition  and  prospects  of  the  Italian  people 
than  in  works  of  art,  ancient  or  modern.  In 


206  MARGARET  FULLER. 

spite  of  this,  she  seems  to  have  been  diligent 
in  visiting  the  galleries  and  studios  of  Rome. 
Among  the  latter  she  mentions  those  of  the 
sculptors  Macdonald,  Wolff,  Tenerani,  and  Gott, 
whose  groups  of  young  people  and  animals  were 
to  her  "  very  refreshing  after  the  grander  attempts 
of  the  present  time."  She  found  our  own  Craw 
ford  just  completing  a  bust  of  his  beautiful  wife, 
which  is  to-day  a  household  treasure  among  her 
relatives.  Margaret  preferred  his  designs  to  those 
of  Gibson,  who  was  then  considered  the  first  of 
English  sculptors.  Among  American  painters 
she  found  Terry.  Cranch,  and  Hicks  at  work. 
She  saw  the  German  Overbeck  surrounded  by 
his  pictures,  looking  "as  if  he  had  just  stepped 
out  of  one  of  them,  —  a  lay  monk,  with  a  pious 
eye,  and  habitual  morality  of  thought  which 
limits  every  gesture." 

Among  the  old  masters,  Domenichino  and 
Titian  were  those  whom  she  learned  to  appre 
ciate  only  by  the  actual  sight  of  their  paintings. 
Other  artists,  she  thinks,  may  be  well  under 
stood  through  copies  and  engravings,  but  not 
these.  She  enjoyed  the  frescos  of  Caracci 
with  "  the  purest  pleasure,"  tired  soon  of  Guer- 
cino,  who  had  been  one  of  her  favorites,  and 
could  not  like  Leonardo  da  Vinci  at  all.  His 
pictures,  she  confesses,  "  show  a  wonderful  deal 
of  study  and  thought.  I  hate  to  see  the  marks 


SYMPATHY   WITH    THE   PEOPLE.      2O/ 

of  them.  I  want  a  simple  and  direct  expression 
of  soul."  For  the  explanation  of  these  remarks 
we  must  refer  the  reader  back  to  what  Mr.  Em 
erson  has  said  of  Margaret's  idiosyncratic  mode 
of  judgment.  Raphael  and  Michael  Angelo  were 
already  so  well  known  to  her  through  engrav 
ings,  that  their  paintings  and  frescos  made  no 
new  impression  upon  her.  Not  so  was  it  with 
Michael's  sculptures.  Of  his  Moses  she  says : 
"  It  is  the  only  thing  in  Europe  so  far  which  has 
entirely  outgone  my  hopes." 

But  the  time  was  not  one  in  which  an  en-  / 
thusiast  like  Margaret  could  be  content  to  with 
draw  from  living  issues  into  the  calm  imperson 
ality  of  art.  The  popular  life  around  her  was 
throbbing  with  hopes  and  excitements  to  which 
it  had  long  been  unaccustomed.  Visions  of 
a  living  Italy  flashed  through  the  crevices  of  a 
stony  despair  which  had  lasted  for  ages.  The  \ 
prospect  of  representative  government  was  held 
out  to  the  Roman  people,  and  the  promise 
was  welcomed  by  a  torchlight  procession  which 
streamed  through  the  Corso  like  a  river  of  fire, 
and  surging  up  to  the  Quirinal,  where  Pius  then 
dwelt,  "  made  it  a  mound  of  light."  The  noble 
Greek  figures  were  illuminated,  and  their  calm 
aspect  contrasted  strongly  with  the  animated 
faces  of  the  Italians.  "  The  Pope  appeared  on 
his  balcony ;  the  crowd  shouted  their  vivas.  He 


208  MARGARET  FULLER. 

extended  his  arms  ;  the  crowd  fell  on  their 
knees  and  received  his  benediction."  Margaret 
says  that  she  had  never  seen  anything  finer. 

In  this  new  enthusiasm  the  people  agreed  to 
celebrate  the  birthday  of  Rome. 

"  A  great  dinner  was  given  at  the  Baths  of 
Titus,  in  the  open  air.  The  company  was  on 
the  grass  in  the  area,  the  music  at  one  end  ; 
boxes  filled  with  the  handsome  Roman  women 
occupied  the  other  sides.  It  was  a  new  thing 
here,  this  popular  dinner,  and  the  Romans  greeted 
it  in  an  intoxication  of  hope  and  pleasure." 
Many  political  exiles,  amnestied  by  the  Pope, 
were  present.  The  Marquis  d'  Azeglio,  painter, 
novelist,  and  diplomatist,  was  the  most  noted  of 
the  speakers.  From  this  renewed,  regenerated 
Rome  Margaret  went  on  to  visit  the  northern 
cities  of  Italy,  passing  through  Perugia  on  her  way! 
to  Florence.  In  this  neighborhood  she  explored 
the  churches  of  Assisi,  and  the  Etruscan  tombs, 
then  newly  discovered.  She  was  enchanted 
with  the  beauty  of  Perugia,  its  noble  situation, 
and  its  treasures  of  early  art.  Florence  inter 
ested  her  less  than  "  cities  more  purely  Italian. 
The  natural  character  is  ironed  out  here,  and 
done  up  in  a  French  pattern  ;  yet  there  is  no 
French  vivacity,  nor  Italian  either."  The  Grand 
Duke  was  at  the  time  in  an  impossible  position 
between  his  allegiance  to  the  liberalizing  Pope 


RAVENNA.  209 

and  his  fealty  to  despotic  Austria.  Tuscany 
accordingly  was  "glum  as  death  "  on  the  outside, 
but  glowing  with  dangerous  fire  within. 

Margaret,  before  leaving  Florence,  wrote : 
"  Florence  is  not  like  Rome.  At  first  I  could 
not  bear  the  change  ;  yet,  for  the  study  of  the 
fine  arts,  it  is  a  still  richer  place.  Worlds  of 
thought  have  risen  in  my  mind  ;  some  time  you 
will  have  light  from  all." 

Here  she  visited  the  studios  of  her  country 
men,  Horatio  Greenough  and  Hiram  Powers, 
and,  after  a  month's  stay,  went  on  to  Bologna, 
where  she  greatly  appreciated  the  truly  Ita 
lian  physiognomy  of  the  city,  and  rejoiced  in 
the  record  of  its  women  artists  and  professors, 
nobly  recognized  and  upheld  by  their  fellow- 
citizens. 

Thence  she  went  to  Ravenna,  prized  for  its 
curious  remains,  its  Byronic  memories,  and  its 
famous  Pineta,  dear  to  students  of  Dante.  After 
this  came  a  fortnight  in  Venice,  which,  like  An- 
gelo's  Moses,  surpassed  her  utmost  expectations  : 
"  There  only  I  began  to  feel  in  its  fulness  Vene 
tian  art.  It  can  only  be  seen  in  its  own  atmos 
phere.  Never  had  I  the  least  idea  of  what  is  to 
be  seen  at  Venice." 

The  city  was,  in  those  days,  a  place  of  refuge 
for  throneless   royalty.     The  Duchesse  de  Berri 
and  her  son  had  each  a  palace  on  the  Grand 
14 


210  MARGARET  FULLER. 

Canal.  A  queen  of  another  sort,  Taglioni,  here 
consoled  herself  for  the  quiet  of  her  retirement 
from  the  stage.  Margaret  had  the  pleasure  of 
an  outside  view  of  the  fete  given  by  the  royal 
Duchess  in  commemoration  of  her  son's  birth- 
clay.  The  aged  Duchesse  d'Angouleme  came 
from  Vienna  to  be  present  on  the  occasion. 

"  'T  was  a  scene  of  fairy-land,  the  palace  full 
of  light,  so  that  from  the  canal  could  be  seen 
even  the  pictures  on  the  walls.  Landing  from 
the  gondolas,  the  elegantly  dressed  ladies  and 
gentlemen  seemed  to  rise  from  the  water.  We 
also  saw  them  glide  up  the  great  stair,  rust 
ling  their  plumes,  and  in  the  reception-room 
make  and  receive  the  customary  grimaces."  A 
fine  band  of  music  completed  the  attractions  of 
the  scene.  Margaret,  listening  and  looking  hard 
by,  "  thought  of  the  Stuarts,  Bourbons,  and  Bona- 
partes  in  Italy,  and  offered  up  a  prayer  that 
other  names  might  be  added  to  the  list,  and 
other  princes,  more  rich  in  blood  than  in  brain, 
might  come  to  enjoy  a  perpetual  villeggiatura  in 
Italy." 

From  Venice  Margaret  journeyed  on  to  Milan, 
stopping  on  the  way  at  Vicenza,  Verona,  Man- 
tua,_Lagq  di  Garda,  and  Brescia~"Tri~ese  ten 
days  of  travel  opened  to  her  long  vistas  of 
historic  study,  delightful  to  contemplate,  even  if 
hopeless  to  explore  fully.  No  ten  days  of  her 


MANZONI.  211 

previous  life,  she  is  sure,  ever  brought  her  so  far 
in  this  direction.  In  approaching  Milan  her 
thoughts  reverted  to  the  "  Promessi  Sposi." 
Nearly  asleep  for  a  moment,  she  heard  the 
sound  of  waters,  and  started  up  to  ask,  "  Is 
that  the  Adda  ?  "  She  had  guessed  rightly. 
The  authorship  of  this  classic  work  seemed  to 
her  to  secure  to  its  writer,  Manzoni,  the  right 
of  eminent  domain  in  and  around  Milan.  Writ 
ing  to  Mr.  Emerson  from  this  city,  she  says  :  — 

"  To-day,  for  the  first  time,  I  have  seen  Man 
zoni.  Manzoni  has  spiritual  efficacy  in  his 
looks  ;  his  eyes  still  glow  with  delicate  tender 
ness.  His  manners  are  very  engaging,  frank, 
expansive ;  every  word  betokens  the  habitual 
elevation  of  his  thoughts,  and  (what  you  care 
for  so  much)  he  says  distinct,  good  things.  He 
lives  in  the  house  of  his  fathers,  in  the  simplest 
manner." 

Manzoni  had,  at  the  time,  somewhat  dis 
pleased  his  neighbors  by  a  second  marriage, 
scarcely  considered  suitable  for  him.  Margaret, 
however,  liked  the  new  wife  very  well,  "and  saw 
why  he  married  her." 

She  found  less  to  see  in  Milan  than  in  other 
Italian  cities,  and  was  glad  to  have  there*some 
days  of  quiet  after  the  fatigues  of  her  journey, 
which  had  been  augmented  at  Brescia  by  a 
brief  attack  of  fever.  She  mentions  with  in- 


212  MARGARET  FULLER. 

terest  the  bust  of  the  celebrated  mathematician, 
Maria  Gaetana  Agnesi,  preserved  in  the  Am- 
brosian  Library.  Among  her  new  acquaint 
ances  here  were  some  young  Italian  radicals, 
"interested  in  ideas." 

The  Italian  Lakes  and  Switzerland  came  next 
in  the  order  of  her  travels.  Her  Swiss  tour  she 
calls  "a  little  romance  by  itself,"  promising  to 
give,  at  a  later  date,  a  description  of  it,  which 
we  fail  to  find  anywhere.  Returning  from  it, 
she  passed  a  fortnight  at  Como,  and  saw  some 
thing  of  the  Italian  nobility,  who  pass  their 
summers  on  its  shores.  Here  she  enjoyed  the 
society  of  the  accomplished  Marchesa  Arconati 
Visconti,  whom  she  had  already  met  in  Flor 
ence,  and  who  became  to  her  a  constant  and 
valued  friend. 

Margaret  found  no  exaggeration  in  the  en 
thusiasm  expressed  by  poets  and  artists  for  the 
scenery  of  this  lake  region.  The  descriptions 
of  it  given  by  Goethe,  Richter,  and  Taylor  had 
not  prepared  her  for  what  she  saw.  Even 
Turner's  pictures  had  fallen  short  of  the  real 
beauty.  At  Lugano  she  met  Lady  Franklin, 
the  widow  of  the  Arctic  explorer.  She  returned 
to  Milan  by  the  8th  of  September,  in  time  for 
the  great  feast  of  the  Madonna,  and  finally  left 
the  city  "  with  great  regret,  and  hope  to  return." 
In  a  letter  to  her  brother  Richard  she  speaks  of 


THE  MILANESE.  21$ 

her  radical  friends  there  as  "  a  circle  of  aspiring 
youth,  such  as  I  have  not  known  in  any  other 
city."  Conspicuous  among  these  was  the  young 
Marquis  Guerrieri  Gonzaga,  commended  to  her 
by  "  a  noble  soul,  the  quietest  sensibility,  and  a 
brilliant  and  ardent,  though  not  a  great,  mind." 
This  gentleman  has  to-day  a  recognized  position 
in  Italy  as  a  thoroughly  enlightened  and  intelli 
gent  liberal. 

Margaret  found  among  the  Milanese,  as  she  I 
must  have  anticipated,  a  great  hatred  of  the 
Austrian  rule,  aggravated,  at  the  time  of  her 
second  visit,  by  acts  of  foolish  and  useless  re 
pression.  On  the  occasion  of  the  festivals  at-  • 
tending  the  entry  of  a  new  archbishop,  some 
youths  (among  them  possibly  Margaret's  radical 
friends)  determined  to  sing  the  hymn  composed 
at  Rome  in  honor  of  Pius  IX.  The  consequence 
of  this  was  a  charge  of  the  armed  Austrian 
police  upon  the  defenceless  crowd  of  people 
present,  who,  giving  way,  were  stabbed  by  them 
in  the  back.  Margaret's  grief  and  indignation 
at  this  state  of  things  made  her  feel  keenly  the 
general  indifference  of  her  own  travelling  coun 
try-people  to  the  condition  and  fate  of  Italy. 

"  Persons  who  call  themselves  Americans,  — 
miserable,  thoughtless  Esaus,  unworthy  their 
high  birthright  .  .  .  absorbed  at  home  by  the  lust 
of  gain,  the  love  of  show,  abroad,  they  see  only 


214  MARGARET  FULLER. 

the  equipages,  the  fine  clothes,  the  food.  They 
have  no  heart  for  the  idea,  for  the  destiny  of 
our  own  great  nation  :  how  can  they  feel  the 
spirit  that  is  struggling  in  this  ? " 

The  condition  of  Italy  has  been  greatly  al 
tered  for  the  better  since  Margaret  wrote  these 
words,  thirty-six  years  ago  ;  but  the  American 
traveller  of  this  type  is  to-day,  to  all  intents  and 
purposes,  what  he  was  then. 

Margaret  left  Milan  before  the  end  of  this 
September,  to  return  to  Rome.  She  explored 
with  delight  the  great  Certosa  of  Pavia,  and  in 
Parma  saw  the  Correggio  pictures,  of  which  she 
says:  "A  wonderful  beauty  it  is  that  informs 
them,  —  not  that  which  is  the  chosen  food  of 
my  soul,  yet  a  noble  beauty,  and  which  did  its 
message  to  me  also."  Parma  and  Modena  ap 
pear  to  her  "  obliged  to  hold  their  breath,  while 
their  poor,  ignorant  sovereigns  skulk  in  corners, 
hoping  to  hide  from  the  coming  storm." 

Before  reaching  Rome,  Margaret  made  a  sec 
ond  visit  to  Florence.  The  liberty  of  the  press 
had  been  recently  established  in  Tuscany,  under 
happy  auspices.  This  freedom  took  effect  in 
the  establishment  of  two  liberal  papers,  "Alba" 
("  The  Dawn  "),  and  "  Patria,"  needless  to  trans 
late.  The  aim  of  these  was  to  educate  the  youth 
and  the  working  classes,  by  promoting  fearless 
ness  in  thought  and  temperance  in  action. 


GRAND  FESTIVAL.  21$ 

The  creation  of  the  National  Guard  had  given 
confidence  to  the  people.  Shortly  before  Mar 
garet's  arrival  this  event  had  been  celebrated 
by  a  grand  public  festival,  preceded  by  a  general 
reconciliation  of  public  and  private  differences, 
and  culminating  in  a  general  embracing,  and 
exchanging  of  banners.  She  speaks  of  this  as 
a  "new  great  covenant  of  brotherly  love,"  in 
which  "  all  was  done  in  that  beautiful  poetic 
manner  peculiar  to  this  artist-people."  In  this 
feast  of  reconciliation  resident  Americans  bore 
their  part,  Horatio  Greenough  taking  the  lead 
among  them.  Margaret's  ears  were  refreshed 
by  continually  hearing  in  the  streets  the  singing 
of  the  Roman  hymn  composed  in  honor  of  Pope 
Pius.  Wishing  that  her  own  country  might 
send  some  substantial  token  of  sympathy  to  the 
land  of  its  great  discoverers,  she  suggests  that 
a  cannon,  named  for  one  of  these,  would  be  the 
most  fitting  gift.1  The  first  letter  from  Rome 
after  these  days  is  dated  Oct.  18,  1847. 

1  Cabot,  a  well-known  Boston  patronymic. 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

PERIOD  OF    AGITATION    IN    ROME. MARGARET'S  ZEAL 

FOR    ITALIAN    FREEDOM. HER    RETURN    TO    ROME. 

REVIEW  OF  THE    CIVIC    GUARD. CHURCH  FASTS 

AND  FEASTS.  —  POPE  PIUS. THE  RAINY  SEASON.  — 

PROMISE     OF     REPRESENTATIVE      GOVERNMENT      IN 

ROME. CELEBRATION  OF  THIS  EVENT.  MAZZINl'S 

LETTER  TO  THE  POPE.  BEAUTY  OF  THE  SPRING.  — - 

ITALY  IN  REVOLUTION. POPULAR    EXCITEMENTS  IN 

ROME. POPE    PIUS    DESERTS    THE    CAUSE    OF    FREE 
DOM.  MARGARET   LEAVES    ROME    FOR   AQUILA. 

THE  period  in  which  Margaret  now  found  her 
self,  and  its  circumstances,  may  best  be  de 
scribed  by  the  adjective  "  billowy."  Up  and 
down,  up  and  down,  went  the  hearts  and  hopes 
of  the  liberal  party.  Hither  and  thither  ran 
the  tides  of  popular  affection,  suspicion,  and  re 
sentment.  The  Pope  was  the  idol  of  the  mo 
ment.  Whoever  might  do  wrong,  he  could  not. 
The  Grand  Duke  of  Tuscany,  described  by  Mar 
garet  as  dull  but  well  meaning,  yielded  to  pres 
sure  wherever  it  became  most  severe.  The 
Austrian  occupation  was  cowardly  and  cruel,  as 
ever.  The  minor  princes,  who  had  been  from 


ZEAL   FOR    ITALIAN  FREEDOM.        21  / 

their  birth  incapable  of  an  idea,  tried  as  well  as 
they  could  to  put  on  some  semblance  of  con 
cession  without  really  yielding  anything. 

The  King  of  Sardinia  was  spoken  of  among 
the  liberals  as  a  worthless  man,  without  heart 
or  honor,  only  likely  to  be  kept  on  the  right 
side  by  the  stress  of  circumstance.  This  judg 
ment  of  him  was  reversed  in  after  years,  when, 
behind  Casa  Guidi  windows,  Elizabeth  Barrett 
Browning  wrote,  with  steadfast  hand,  "  Yea, 
verily.  Charles  Albert  has  died  well." 

The  royalty  of  Naples  tried  to  quiet  its  tre 
mors  with  blood,  and  trembled  still.  And  in  the 
midst  of  all  this  turmoil,  down  comes  Louis 
Philippe  from  his  throne,  and  France  is  shaken 
to  her  very  centre. 

To  follow  Margaret  through  all  the  fluctua 
tions  and  excitements  consequent  upon  these 
events  would  be  no  easy  task.  She  was  obvf- 
ously  in  close  relations  with  leading  Italian  lib 
erals,  and  probably  trusted  their  statements  and 
shared  their  hopes,  fears,  and  resentments.  Con 
stant  always  in  her  faith  in  human  nature,  and 
in  her  zeal  for  the  emancipation  of  Italy,  the 
dissolving  view  before  her  could  leave  her  no 
other  fixed  belief.  Her  favorites,  her  beloved 
Italian  people,  even  her  adored  Rome,  appeared 
to  her  at  different  times  in  very  various  lights. 

Starting  from  the  date  given  above,  we  will 


218  MARGARET  FULLER. 

follow,  as  well  as  we  can,  her  progress  through 
the  constantly  shifting  scenes  that  surrounded 
her,  from  whose  intense  interest  she  could  not, 
for  one  moment,  isolate  herself. 

Of  her  return  to  Rome,  Margaret  says  :  "  All 
mean  things  were  forgotten  in  the  joy  that 
rushed  over  me  like  a  flood/'  The  difference 
between  a  sight-seeing  tour  and  a  winter's  resi 
dence  in  such  a  place  is  indeed  like  that  hetween 
a  chance  acquaintance  and  an  intimate  one. 
Settled  in  a  pleasant  apartment  on  the  Corso, 
"in  a  house  of  loving  Italians,"  Margaret  prom 
ised  herself  a  winter  of  "  tranquil  companion 
ship"  with  what  she  calls  "  the  true  Rome." 

She  did  not  find  the  Italian  autumn  beautiful, 
as  she  had  expected,  but  she  enjoyed  the  Octo 
ber  ftstas  of  the  Trasteverini,  and  went  with 
"  hah"  Rome  '  to  see  the  manoeuvres  of  the  Civic 
Guard  on  the  Campagna,  near  the  tomb  of 
Cecilia  Metella. 

To  the  music  of  the  "  Bolognese  March  "  six 
thousand  Romans  moved  in  battle  array,  in  full 
sight  of  the  grandiose  debris  of  the  heroic  time. 

Some  -sight-seeing  Margaret  still  undertook, 
as  we  leain  from  a  letter  dated  November  17,  in 
which  she  speaks  of  going  about  "  in  a  coach 
with  several  people,"  and  confesses  that  she  dis 
sipates  her  thoughts  on  outward  beauty.  Such 


RETURN   TO   ROME.  2ig 

was  her  delight,  at  this  time,  in  the  "atmos 
phere  of  the  European  mind,"  that  she  even 
wished,  for  a  time,  to  be  delivered  from  the 
sound  of  the  English  language. 

The  beginning  of  this  winter  was,  as  it  usually 
is  in  Italy,  a  season  of  fine  weather.  On  the  i/th 
of  December  Margaret  rises  to  bask  in  beneficent 
floods  of  sunlight,  and  to  find  upon  her  table  the 
roses  and  grapes  which,  in  New  England,  would 
have  been  costly  hot-house  luxuries.  Her  let 
ter  of  this  date  is  full  of  her  delight  in  having 
penetrated  from  the  outer  aspect  to  the  heart 
of  Rome,  classic,  mediaeval,  and  modern.  And 
here  we  come  upon  the  record  of  those  first 
impressions  concerning  which  we  latterly  in 
dulged  in  some  speculation. 

"Ah!  how  joyful  to  see  once  more  this 
Rome,  instead  of  the  pitiful,  peddling,  Anglicized 
Rome  first  viewed  in  unutterable  dismay  from  the 
coup6  of  the  vettura,  —  a  Rome  all  full  of  taverns, 
lodging-houses,  cheating  chambermaids,  vilest 
valets  de  place,  and  fleas  !  A  Niobe  of  nations 
indeed !  Ah  !  why  (secretly  the  heart  blas 
phemed)  did  the  sun  omit  to  kill  her  too,  when 
all  the  glorious  race  which  wore  her  crown  fell 
beneath  his  ray  ?  " 

All  this  had  now  disappeared  for  Margaret, 
and  a  new  enchantment  had  taken  the  place  of 
the  old  illusion  and  disappointment.  For  she 


220  MARGARET  FULLER. 

was  now  able  to  disentangle  the  strange  jumble 
of  ancient  and  modern  Rome.  In  this  more 
understanding  and  familiar  view,  she  says  :  — 

"  The  old  kings,  the  consuls  and  tribunes,  the 
emperors,  drunk  with  blood  and  gold,  return  for 
us.  The  seven  hills  tower,  the  innumerable 
temples  glitter,  and  the  Via  Sacra  swarms  with 
triumphal  life  once  more." 

In  the  later  Papal  Rome  she  discerns,  through 
the  confusion  of  rite  and  legend,  a  sense  which 
to  her  marks  the  growth  "  of  the  human  spirit 
struggling  to  develop  its  life."  And  the  Rome 
of  that  day  was  dear  to  her  in  spite  of  its  mani 
fold  corruptions  ;  dear  for  the  splendor  of  the 
race,  surviving  every  enslaving  and  deforming 
influence ;  dear  for  the  new-born  hope  of  free 
dom  which  she  considered  safe  in  the  nursing 
of  Pope  Pius. 

Most  of  the  occasions  chronicled  by  Margaret 
in  her  letters  of  this  period  are  of  the  sort 
familiarly  known  to  travellers,  and  even  to  read 
ers  of  books  of  travel. 

The  prayers  for  the  dead,  early  in  November, 
the  festival  of  San  Carlo  Borromeo,  the  veiling 
of  a  nun,  the  worship  of  the  wooden  image 
called  "  the  most  Holy  Child,"  idolatrous,  Mar 
garet  thinks,  as  that  of  the  Capitoline  Jove,  the 
blessing  of  the  animals,  the  festival  of  the  Magi 
at  the  Propaganda,  —  these  events  are  all  de- 


THE  RAINY  SEASON.  221 


scribed   by  her  with   much    good   thought  and 


suggestion. 


She  saw  the  Pope  occasionally  at  the  grand 
ceremonies  of  the  Church,  and  saw  the  first 
shadow  fall  upon  his  popularity,  partly  in  conse 
quence  of  some  public  utterances  of  his  which 
seemed  to  Margaret  "  deplorably  weak  in  thought 
and  absolute  in  manner,"  and  which  she  could 
not  but  interpret  as  implying  that  wherever  re 
form  might  in  future  militate  against  sacerdotal 
traditions,  it  would  go  to  the  wall,  in  order  that 
the  priest  might  triumph. 

The  glorious  weather  had  departed  almost  as 
soon  as  she  had  sung  its  praises,  namely,  on  the 
1 8th  of  December  ;  after  which  time  her  patience 
was  sorely  tried  by  forty  days  of  rain,  accom 
panied  by  "  abominable  reeking  odors,  such  as 
blessed  cities  swept  by  the  sea-breeze  never 
know."  We  copy  from  one  of  her  letters  a 
graphic  picture  of  this  time  of  trial  :  — 

"  It  has  been  dark  all  day,  though  the  lamp 
has  only  been  lit  half  an  hour.  The  music  of 
the  day  has  been,  first,  the  atrocious  arias  which 
last  in  the  Corso  till  near  noon.  Then  came 
the  wicked  organ-grinder,  who,  apart  from  the 
horror  of  the  noise,  grinds  exactly  the  same 
obsolete  abominations  as  at  home  or  in  England, 
the  'Copenhagen  Waltz/  'Home,  Sweet  Home/ 
and  all  that !  The  cruel  chance  that  both  an 


222  MARGARET  FULLER. 

English  my-lady  and  a  councillor  from  the  prov 
inces  live  opposite,  keeps  him  constantly  before 
my  window,  hoping  for  bajoccJii. 

"  Within,  the  three  pet  dogs  of  my  landlady, 
bereft  of  their  walk,  unable  to  employ  their 
miserable  legs  and  eyes,  exercise  themselves  by 
a  continual  barking,  which  is  answered  by  all 
the  dogs  in  the  neighborhood.  An  urchin  re 
turning  from  the  laundress,  delighted  with  the 
symphony,  lays  down  his  white  bundle  in  the 
gutter,  seats  himself  on  the  curb-stone,  and  at 
tempts  an  imitation  of  the  music  of  cats  as  a 
tribute  to  the  concert. 

"  The  door-bell  rings.  Chi  t  ?  ('  Who  is  it  ? ') 
cries  the  handmaid.  Enter  a  man  poisoning  me 
at  once  with  the  smell  of  the  worst  possible  cigars, 
insisting  I  shall  look  upon  frightful,  ill-cut  cam 
eos  and  worse-designed  mosaics,  made  by  some 
friend  of  his.  Man  of  ill  odors  and  meanest 
smile  !  I  am  no  countess  to  be  fooled  by  you." 

These  passages  give  us  some  glimpses  of  our 
friend  in  the  surroundings  which  at  first  gave 
her  so  much  satisfaction,  and  whose  growing 
discomforts  were  lightened  for  her  by  her  native 
sense  of  humor. 

In  spite  of  this,  however,  "  the  dirt,  the  gloom, 
the  desolation  of  Rome"  affected  her  severely. 
Her  appetite  failed,  and  with  it  her  strength, 
while  nervous  headache  and  fever  conspired  to 


THE  AMERICAN  FLAG.  22$ 

make  the  whole  season  appear,  in  review,  "  the 
most  idle  and  most  suffering"  one  of  her  life. 

The  most  important  public  event  of  the  winter 
in  Rome  seems  to  have  been  the  inauguration  of 
a  new  Council,  with  some  show  of  popular  elec 
tion,  said  to  have  been  on  the  whole  satisfactory. 
As  this  was  considered  a  decided  step  in  the 
direction  of  progress,  preparations  were  made 
for  its  celebration  by  the  representatives  of  other 
Italian  States,  and  of  various  friendly  nations. 
The  Americans  resident  in  Rome  were  aroused 
to  an  unwonted  degree  of  interest,  the  gentle 
men  subscribing  funds  for  the  materials  of  a 
flag,  and  the  ladies  meeting  to  make  it.  To  ac 
company  this  banner,  a  magnificent  spread  eagle 
was  procured.  Everything  was  in  the  height 
of  preparation,  when  some  counter-influence, 
brought  to  bear  upon  the  Pope,  led  him  to  issue 
an  edict  forbidding  this  happy  concourse  of  the 
flags  of  all  nations,  and  allowing  only  that  of 
Rome  to  be  carried  in  honor  of  the  occasion. 
Margaret  saw  in  this  the  work  of  the  Oscurant- 
ists,  "  ever  on  the  watch  to  do  mischief"  to  the 
popular  cause. 

Despite  the  disappointment  of  the  citizens  at 
this  curtailment  of  their  show,  the  streets  were 
decorated,  and  filled  with  people  in  the  best  hu 
mor.  Margaret  was  able  to  see  nothing  but  this 
crowd,  but  found  even  that  a  great  pleasure.  A 


224  MARGARET  FULLER. 

ball  at  the  Argentina  Theatre  terminated  the 
festivities  of  the  day.  Here  were  seen  "  Lord 
Minto;  Prince  Corsini,  now  senator;  the  Torlo- 
nias,  in  uniform  of  the  Civic  Guard,  Princess 
Torlonia  (the  beautiful  Colonna)  in  a  sash  of 
their  colors,  which  she  waved  often  in  answer  to 
their  greetings."  The  finest  show  of  the  even 
ing,  Margaret  says,  was  the  native  Saltarello, 
danced  by  the  Trasteverini  in  their  gayest  cos 
tumes.  In  this  dance,  which  is  at  once  very 
naive  and  very  natural,  Margaret  saw  the  em 
bodiment  of  "  the  Italian  wine,  the  Italian  sun." 

In  the  course  of  this  winter  it  became  evident 
that  the  liberalism  of  Pio  Nono  would  not  stand 
the  test  of  any  extensive  practical  application. 
His  position  was,  indeed,  a  very  difficult  one,  the 
natural  allies  and  supporters  of  the  Papacy  being, 
without  exception,  the  natural  enemies  of  the 
new  ideas  to  which  he  had  so  incautiously  opened 
the  door. 

Margaret  relates  various  attempts  made  by 
Austrians  in  Lombardy  and  by  Oscurantists  in 
Rome  to  excite  the  people  to  overt  acts  of  vio 
lence,  and  thus  gain  a  pretext  for  the  employ 
ment  of  armed  force.  In  Rome,  on  New  Year's 
day,  an  attempt  of  this  sort  was  near  succeed 
ing,  the  governor  of  the  city  having  ungraciously 
forbidden  the  people  to  wait  upon  the  Pope  at 
the  Quirinal,  and  to  ask  for  his  blessing.  For- 


MAZZINPS  LETTER.  22$ 

tunately,  instead  of  rising  in  rebellion,  they  be 
took  themselves  to  Senator  Corsini,  by  whose 
friendly  interposition  the  Pope  was  induced  to 
make  a  progress  through  the  city,  interrupted 
only  by  the  prayers  of  his  subjects,  who,  falling 
on  their  knees  as  he  passed,  cried  out :  "  Holy 
Father,  don't  desert  us !  don't  forget  us  !  don't 
listen  to  our  enemies  ! "  the  Pope,  in  tears,  re 
plying:  "Fear  nothing,  my  people;  my  heart 
is  yours."  And  this  tender-hearted  populace, 
seeing  that  the  Pope  looked  ill,  and  that  the 
weather  was  inclement,  begged  him  to  return  to 
the  Quirinal,  which  he  did,  the  popular  leader, 
Ciceruacchio,  following  his  carriage. 

A  letter  from  Mazzini  to  Pope  Pius,  printed  in 
Paris,  had  reached  Italy  by  this  time,  and  was 
translated  by  Margaret  for  publication  in  the 
"  New  York  Tribune."  Some  passages  of  it 
will  not  be  out  of  place  here,  as  showing  the 
position  and  outlook  of  a  man  by  far  the  most 
illustrious  of  the  Italian  exiles,  and  one  whose 
purity  of  life  and  excellence  of  character  gave 
to  his  opinions  a  weight  beyond  their  intellec 
tual  value. 

After  introducing  himself  as  one  who  adores 
God,  Mazzini  says  that  he  adores,  also,  an  idea 
which  seems  to  him  to  be  of  God,  that  of  Italy 
as  "an  angel  of  moral  unity  and  of  progressive 
civilization  for  the  nations  of  Europe." 
15 


226  MARGARET  FULLER. 

Having  studied  the  great  history  of  humanity, 
and  having  there  found  "  Rome  twice  directress 
of  the  world,  first  through  the  Emperors,  later 
through  the  Popes,"  he  is  led  to  believe  that  the 
great  city  is  destined  to  a  third  and  more  lasting 
period  of  supremacy. 

"  I  believe  that  another  European  world  ought 
to  be  revealed  from  the  Eternal  City,  that  had 
the  Capitol  and  has  the  Vatican.  And  this  faith 
has  not  abandoned  me  through  years,  poverty, 
and  griefs  which  God  alone  knows." 

One  cannot  help  pausing  here  to  reflect  that 
in  both  historic  instances  the  supremacy  of 
Rome  was  due  to  a  superiority  of  civilization 
which  she  has  long  lost,  and  is  not  likely  to  re 
gain  in  this  day  of  the  world. 

Mazzini  says  to  the  Pope :  "  There  is  no  man 
this  day  in  all  Europe  more  powerful  than  you  ; 
you  then  have,  most  Holy  Father,  vast  duties." 

He  now  passes  on  to  a  review  of  the  situa 
tion  :  — 

"  Europe  is  in  a  tremendous  crisis  of  doubts 
and  desires.  Faith  is  dead.  Catholicism  is  lost 
in  despotism  ;  Protestantism  is  lost  in  anarchy. 
The  intellect  travels  in  a  void.  The  bad  adore 
calculation,  physical  good  ;  the  good  pray  and 
hope ;  nobody  believes.  .  .  . 

"  I  call  upon  you,  after  so  many  ages  of  doubt 
and  corruption,  to  be  the  apostle  of  eternal 


MAZZINPS  LETTER.  22? 

truth.  I  call  upon  you  to  make  yourself  the 
'servant  of  all ;'  to  sacrifice  yourself,  if  needful, 
so  that  the  will  of  God  may  be  done  on  earth  as 
it  is  in  heaven  ;  to  hold  yourself  ready  to  glorify 
God  in  victory,  or  to  repeat  with  resignation,  if 
you  must  fail,  the  words  of  Gregory  VII.:  'I 
die  in  exile  because  I  have  loved  justice  and 
hated  iniquity.' 

"  But  for  this,  to  fulfil  the  mission  which  God 
confides  to  you,  two  things  are  needful,  —  to  be 
a  believer,  and  to  unify  Italy." 

The  first  of  these  two  clauses  is  here  amplified 
into  an  exhortation  which,  edifying  in  itself,  had 
in  it  nothing  likely  to  suggest  to  the  person 
addressed  any  practical  solution  of  the  difficul 
ties  which  surrounded  him. 

Having  shown  the  Head  of  Christendom  the 
way  to  right  belief,  Mazzini  next  instructs  him 
how  to  unify  Italy:  — 

"  For  this  you  have  no  need  to  work,  but  [only 
to]  bless  Him  who  works  through  you  and  in 
your  name.  Gather  round  you  those  who  best 
represent  the  national  party.  Do  not  beg  alli 
ances  with  princes.  Say,  '  The  unity  of  Italy 
ought  to  be  a  fact  of  the  nineteenth  century/ 
and  it  will  suffice.  Leave  our  pens  free  ;  leave 
free  the  circulation  of  ideas  in  what  regards  this 
point,  vital  for  us,  of  the  national  unity." 

Here  follow  some  special  directions  with  re- 


228  MARGARET  FULLER. 

gard  to  the  several  powers  to  be  dealt  with  in  the 
projected  unification.  The  result  of  all  this,  fore 
seen  by  Mazzini,  would  be  the  foundation  of  "  a 
government  unique  in  Europe,  which  shall  de 
stroy  the  absurd  divorce  between  spiritual  and 
temporal  power,  and  in  which  you  shall  be  chosen 
to  represent  the  principle  of  which  the  men 
chosen  by  the  nation  will  make  the  application." 

"  The  unity  of  Italy,"  says  Mazzini,  "  is  a  work 
of  God.  It  will  be  fulfilled,  with  you  or  without 
you.  But  I  address  you  because  I  believe  you 
worthy  to  take  the  initiative  in  a  work  so  vast ; 
.  .  .  because  the  revival  of  Italy,  under  the  aegis 
of  a  religious  idea  of  a  standard,  not  of  rights, 
but  of  duties,  would  leave  behind  all  the  revo 
lutions  of  other  countries,  and  place  her  imme 
diately  at  the  head  of  European  progress." 

Pure  and  devout  as  are  the  sentiments  uttered 
in  this  letter,  the  views  which  accompany  them 
have  been  shown,  by  subsequent  events,  to  be 
only  partially  just,  only  partially  realizable.  The 
unification  of  Italy  may  to-day  be  called  "  a  work 
of  God  ; "  but  had  it  been  accomplished  on  the 
theocratic  basis  imagined  by  Mazzini,  it  could 
not  have  led  either  Europe  or  Italy  itself  to  the 
point  now  reached  through  manifold  endeavor 
and  experience.  Spirits  may  be  summoned  from 
the  upper  air  as  well  as  from  the  "  vasty  deep," 
but  they  will  not  come  until  the  time  is  ripe  for 


BEAUTY  OF   THE   SPRING.  229 

their  work.     And  yet  are  prayer  and  prophecy  of 
this  sort  sacred  and  indispensable  functions  in  * 
the  priesthood  of  ideas. 

On  March  29,  1848,  Margaret  is  able  to 
praise  once  more  the  beauty  of  the  scene  around 
her:  — 

"  Now  the  Italian  heavens  wear  again  their 
deep  blue.  The  sun  is  glorious,  the  melancholy 
lustres  are  stealing  again  over  the  Campagna, 
and  hundreds  of  larks  sing  unwearied  above  its 
ruins.  Nature  seems  in  sympathy  with  the  great 
events  that  are  transpiring." 

What  were  these  events,  which,  Margaret 
says,  stunned  her  by  the  rapidity  and  grandeur 
of  their  march  ? 

The  face  of  Italy  was  changed  indeed.  Sicily 
was  in  revolt,  Naples  in  revolution.  Milan,  Ven 
ice,  Modena,  and  Parma  were  driving  out  their 
tyrants ;  and  in  Rome,  men  and  women  were 
.weeping  and  dancing  for  joy  at  the  news. 
Abroad,  Louis  Philippe  had  lost  his  throne,  and 
Metternich  his  power.  Margaret  saw  the  Aus 
trian  arms  dragged  through  the  streets,  and 
burned  in  the  Piazza  del  Popolo.  "  The  Italians 
embraced  one  another,  and  cried,  Miracolo ! 
Providcnza  !  The  Tribune  Ciceruacchio  fed 
the  flame  with  fagots.  Adam  Mickiewicz,  the 
great  poet  of  Poland,  long  exiled  from  his  coun 
try,  looked  on."  The  double-headed  Austrian 


230  MARGARET  FULLER. 

eagle  was  torn  from  the  front  of  the  Palazzo  di 
Venezia,  and  in  his  place  was  set  the  inscription, 
"  Alta  Italia."  By  April  ist  the  Austrian  Vice 
roy  had  capitulated  at  Verona,  and  Italy  appeared 
to  be,  or  was  for  the  time,  "  free,  independent, 
and  one." 

Poor  Pope  Pius,  meanwhile,  had  fallen  more 
and  more  into  the  rear  of  the  advancing  move 
ment,  and  finally  kept  step  with  it  only  as  he  was 
compelled  to  do,  secretly  looking  for  the  moment 
when  he  should  be  able  to  break  from  the  ranks 
which  he  himself  had  once  led.  On  May  /th, 
Margaret  writes  of  his  "  final  dereliction  to  the 
cause  of  freedom,"  by  which  phrase  she  describes 
his  refusal  to  declare  war  against  Austria,  after 
having  himself  done  and  approved  of  much 
which  led  in  that  direction.  The  position  of 
the  Pontiff,  was  now  most  unhappy.  Alarmed 
at  the  agitation  and  turmoil  about  him,  it  is 
probable  that  he  bitterly  regretted  the  acts  in 
which  he  had  been  sincere,  but  of  which  he  had 
not  foreseen  the  consequences.  Margaret  de 
scribes  him  as  isolated  in  his  palace,  guided  by 
his  confessor,  weak  and  treacherous  in  his  move 
ments,  privately  disowning  the  measures  which 
the  popular  feeling  compelled  him  to  allow,  and 
secretly  doing  his  utmost  to  counteract  them. 

In  the  month  of  May  Margaret  enjoyed  some 
excursions  into  the  environs  of  Rome.     She  vis- 


LEAVES  ROME   FOR   AQUJLA.          231 

ited  Albano,  Frascati,  and  Ostia,  and  passed 
some  days  at  Subiaco  and  at  Tivoli.  On  the 
28th  of  the  same  month  she  left  Rome  for  the 
summer,  and  retired  to  Aquila,  a  little  ruined 
town  in  the  Abruzzi  Mountains,  where,  after  so 
many  painful  excitements,  she  hoped  to  find 
tranquillity  and  rest. 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

MARGARET'S  MARRIAGE.  —  CHARACTER  OF  THE  MAR- 

CHESE  OSSOLI.  MARGARET'S  FIRST  MEETING  WITH 

HIM. REASONS   FOR  NOT  DIVULGING"  THE   MAR 
RIAGE.  AQUILA.  —  RIETI.  BIRTH    OF  ANGELO 

EUGENE  OSSOLI. — MARGARET'S  RETURN  TO  ROME. 

HER  ANXIETY  ABOUT  HER  CHILD. FLIGHT  OF  POPE 

PIUS. THE  CONSTITUTIONAL  ASSEMBLY. THE  RO 
MAN  REPUBLIC.  ATTITUDE  OF   FRANCE.  THE 

SIEGE  OF    ROME.  MAZZINI. PRINCESS    BELGIO- 

joso.  —  MARGARET'S  CARE  OF  THE  HOSPITALS. 

THE  story  of  this  summer  in  the  mountains 
Margaret  never  told,  and  her  letters  of  the  pre 
vious  winter  gave  no  account  of  matters  most 
personal  to  herself.  In  continuing  the  narrative 
of  her  life,  we  are  therefore  obliged  to  break 
through  the  reserves  of  the  moment,  and  to 
speak  of  events  which,  though  occurring  at  this 
time,  were  not  made  known  to  her  most  intimate 
friends  until  a  much  later  period. 

Margaret  had  been  privately  married  for  some 
months  when  she  left  Rome  for  Aquila.  Her 
husband  was  a  young  Italian  nobleman,  Ossoli 


FIRST  MEETING   WITH  OSSOLI.       233 

by  name,  whose  exterior  is  thus  described  by  one 
of  her  most  valued  friends  J :  — 

"  He  appeared  to  be  of  a  reserved  and  gentle 
nature,  with  quiet,  gentlemanlike  manners  ;  and 
there  was  something  melancholy  in  the  expres 
sion  of  his  face  which  made  one  desire  to  know 
more  of  him.  In  figure  he  was  tall,  and  of  slen 
der  frame,  with  dark  hair  and  eyes.  We  judged 
that  he  was  about  thirty  years  of  age,  possibly 
younger." 

Margaret  had  made  the  acquaintance  of  this 
gentleman  during  her  first  visit  to  Rome,  in  the 
spring  of  the  year  1847,  and  under  the  following 
circumstances  :  She  had  gone  with  some  friends 
to  attend  the  vesper  service  at  St.  Peter's,  and, 
wandering  from  one  point  of  interest  to  another 
in  the  vast  church,  had  lost  sight  of  her  party. 
All  efforts  to  rejoin  them  proved  useless,  and 
Margaret  was  in  some  perplexity,  when  a  young 
man  of  gentlemanly  address  accosted  her,  and 
asked  leave  to  assist  her  in  finding  her  friends. 
These  had  already  left  the  church,  and  by  the 
time  that  this  became  evident  to  Margaret  and 
her  unknown  companion,  the  hour  was  late,  and 
the  carriages,  which  can  usually  be  found  in 
front  of  the  church  after  service,  had  all  disap 
peared.  Margaret  was  therefore  obliged  to  walk 
from  the  Vatican  to  her  lodgings  on  the  Corso, 

1  Mrs.  Story,  wife  of  the  eminent  sculptor. 


234  MARGARET  FULLER. 

accompanied  by  her  new  friend,  with  whom  she 
was  able  at  the  time  to  exchange  very  little  con 
versation.  Familiar  as  she  was  with  Italian 
literature,  the  sound  of  the  language  was  new  to 
her,  and  its  use  difficult. 

The  result  of  this  chance  meeting  seems  to 
have  been  love  at  first  sight  on  the  part  of  the 
Marchese  Ossoli.  Before  Margaret  left  Rome 
he  had  offered  her  his  hand,  and  had  been 
refused. 

Margaret  returned  to  Rome,  as  we  have  seen, 
in  the  autumn  of  the  same  year.  Her  acquaint 
ance  with  the  Marchese  was  now  renewed,  and 
with  the  advantage  that  she  had  become  suffi 
ciently  familiar  with  the  Italian  language  to  con 
verse  in  it  with  comparative  ease.  Her  intense 
interest  in  the  affairs  of  Italy  suggested  to  him  also 
ideas  of  "liberty  and  better  government."  His 
education,  much  neglected,  as  she  thought,  had 
been  in  the  traditions  of  the  narrowest  conserva 
tism  ;  but  Margaret's  influence  led  or  enabled 
him  to  free  himself  from  the  trammels  of  old- 
time  prejudice,  and  to  espouse,  with  his  whole 
heart,  the  cause  of  Roman  liberty. 

According  to  the  best  authority  extant,  the 
marriage  of  Margaret  and  the  Marchese  took 
place  in  the  December  following  her  return  to 
Rome.  The  father  of  the  Marchese  had  died 
but  a  short  time  before  this,  and  his  estate,  left 


REASONS  FOR   SECRECY.  235 

;n  the  hands  of  two  other  sons,  was  not  yet  set 
tled.  These  gentlemen  were  both  attached  to 
the  Papal  household,  and,  we  judge,  to  the  reac 
tionary  party.  The  fear  lest  the  Marchese's 
marriage  with  a  Protestant  should  deprive  him 
wholly,  or  in  part,  of  his  paternal  inheritance,  in 
duced  the  newly  married  couple  to  keep  to  them 
selves  the  secret  of  their  relation  to  each  other. 
At  the  moment,  ecclesiastical  influence  would 
have  been  very  likely,  under  such  circumstances, 
to  affect  the  legal  action  to  be  taken  in  the  di 
vision  of  the  property.  Better  things  were  hoped 
for  in  view  of  a  probable  change  of  government. 
So  the  winter  passed,  and  Margaret  went  to  her 
retreat  among  the  mountains,  with  her  secret 
unguessed  and  probably  unsuspected. 

Her  husband  was  a  member — perhaps  already 
a  captain  —  of  the  Civic  Guard,  and  was  detained 
in  Rome  by  military  duties.  Margaret  was 
therefore  much  alone  in  the  midst  of  "a  thea 
tre  of  glorious,  snow-crowned  mountains,  whose 
pedestals  are  garlanded  with  the  olive  and  mul 
berry,  and  along  whose  sides  run  bridle-paths 
fringed  with  almond  groves  and  vineyards." 
The  scene  was  to  her  one  of  "  intoxicating  beau 
ty,"  but  the  distance  from  her  husband  soon  be 
came  more  than  she  could  bear.  After  a  month 
passed  in  this  place,  she  found  a  nearer  retreat 
at  Rieti,  also  a  mountain-town,  but  within  the 


236  MARGARET  FULLER. 

confines  of  the  Papal  States.  Here  Ossoli  could 
sometimes  pass  the  Sunday  with  her,  by  travel 
ling  in  the  night.  In  one  of  her  letters  Mar 
garet  writes  :  "  Do  not  fail  to  come.  I  shall 
have  your  coffee  warm.  You  will  arrive  early, 
and  I  can  see  the  diligence  pass  the  bridge  from 
my  window." 

In  the  month  of  August  the  Civic  Guard  were 
ordered  to  prepare  for  a  march  to  Bologna  ;  and 
Ossoli,  writing  to  Margaret  on  the  i/th,  strongly 
expresses  his  unwillingness  to  be  so  far  removed 
from  her  at  a  time  in  which  she  might  have  urgent 
need  of  his  presence  at  any  moment.  For  these 
were  to  her  days  of  great  hope  and  expectation. 
Her  confinement  was  near  at  hand,  and  she 
was  alone,  poor  and  friendless,  among  people 
whose  only  aim  was  to  plunder  her.  But  Mar 
garet  could  not,  even  in  these  trying  circum 
stances,  belie  the  heroic  principles  which  had 
always  guided  her  life.  She  writes  to  her  doubt 
ing,  almost  despairing  husband  :  "  If  honor  re 
quires  it,  go.  I  will  try  to  sustain  myself." 

This  dreaded  trial  was  averted.  The  march 
to  Bologna  was  countermanded.  Margaret's 
boy  saw  the  light  on  the  5th  of  September,  and 
the  joyful  presence  of  her  husband  soothed  for 
her  the  pangs  of  a  first  maternity. 

He  was  indeed  obliged  to  leave  her  the  next  day 
for  Rome.  Margaret  was  ill  cared  for,  and  lost, 


RETURN   TO  ROME.  237 

through  a  severe  fever,  the  ability  to  nurse  her 
child.  She  was  forced  to  dismiss  her  only  at 
tendant,  and  to  struggle  in  her  helpless  condition 
with  the  dishonesty  and  meanness  of  the  people 
around  her.  A  balia^  for  the  child  was  soon 
found,  but  Margaret  felt  the  need  of  much  cour 
age  in  guarding  the  first  days  of  her  infant's  life. 
In  her  eyes  he  grew  "  more  beautiful  every  hour." 
The  people  in  the  house  called  him  Angiolino, 
anticipating  the  name  afterwards  given  him  in 
baptism,  —  Angelo  Eugene. 

She  was  soon  to  find  a  new  trial  in  leaving 
him.  Her  husband  still  wished  to  keep  his 
marriage  a  profound  secret,  and  to  this  end 
desired  that  the  baby  should  be  left  at  Rieti,  in 
charge  of  "  a  good  nurse  who  should  treat  him 
like  a  mother."  Margaret  was  most  anxious  to 
return  to  Rome,  to  be  near  her  husband,  and 
also  in  order  to  be  able  to  carry  on  the  literary 
labor  upon  which  depended  not  only  her  own 
support,  but  also  that  of  her  child. 

Writing  to  Ossoli,  she  says  :  "  I  cannot  stay 
long  without  seeing  the  boy.  He  is  so  dear,  and 
life  seems  so  uncertain.  It  is  necessary  that  I 
should  be  in  Rome  a  month  at  least,  to  write, 
and  to  be  near  you.  But  I  must  be  free  to  re 
turn  here,  if  I  feel  too  anxious  and  suffering  for 
him." 

1  Wet-nurse. 


238  MARGARET  FULLER. 

Early  in  November  Margaret  returned  to 
Rome.  In  a  letter  to  her  mother,  bearing  the 
date  of  November  16,  she  says  :  — 

"  I  am  again  in  Rome,  situated  for  the  first 
time  entirely  to  my  mind.  ...  I  have  the  sun 
all  day,  and  an  excellent  chimney.  It  [her  lodg 
ing]  is  very  high,  and  has  pure  air,  and  the  most 
beautiful  view  all  around  imaginable.  .  .  .  The 
house  looks  out  on  the  Piazza  Barberini,  and  I  see 
both  that  palace  and  the  Pope's  [the  Ouirinal]." 

The  assassination  of  the  Minister  Rossi  had 
taken  place  on  the  previous  day.  Margaret  de 
scribes  it  almost  as  if  she  had  seen  it :  — 

"  The  poor,  weak  Pope  has  fallen  more  and 
more  under  the  dominion  of  the  cardinals.  He 
had  suffered  the  Minister  Rossi  to  go  on,  tight 
ening  the  reins,  and  because  the  people  pre 
served  a  sullen  silence,  he  thought  they  would 
bear  it.  ...  Rossi,  after  two  or  three  most  un 
popular  measures,  had  the  imprudence  to  call 
the  troops  of  the  line  to  defend  him,  instead  of 
the  National  Guard.  .  .  .  Yesterday,  as  he  de 
scended  from  his  carriage  to  enter  the  Cham 
ber  [of  Deputies],  the  crowd  howled  and  hissed, 
then  pushed  him,  and  as  he  turned  his  head  in 
consequence,  a  sure  hand  stabbed  him  in  the 
back." 

On  the  morrow,  the  troops  and  the  people  united 
in  calling  upon  the  Pope,  then  at  the  Quirinal, 


FLIGHT  OF  POPE  PIUS.  239 

for  a  change  of  measures.  They  found  no 
audience,  but  only  the  hated  Swiss  mercenaries, 
who  defeated  an  attempt  to  enter  the  palace  by 
firms:  on  the  crowd.  "  The  drum  beat  to  call 

o 

out  the  National  Guard.  The  carriage  of  Prince 
Barberini  has  returned,  with  its  frightened  in 
mates  and  liveried  retinue,  and  they  have  sud 
denly  barred  up  the  court-yard  gate."  Margaret 
felt  no  apprehension  for  herself  in  all  this  tur 
moil.  The  side  which  had,  for  the  moment,  the 
upper  hand,  was  her  own,  and  these  very  days 
were  such  as  she  had  longed  for,  not,  we  may  be 
sure,  for  their  accompaniments  of  bloodshed  and 
violence,  but  for  the  outlook  which  was  to  her 
and  her  friends  one  of  absolute  promise.  . 

The  "  good  time  coming  "  did  then  seem  to 
have  come  for  Italy.  Her  various  populations 
had  risen  against  their  respective  tyrants,  and 
had  shown  a  disposition  to  forget  past  divisions 
in  the  joy  of  a  country  reconciled  and  united. 

In  the  principal  churches  of  Rome,  masses 
were  performed  in  commemoration  of  the  patri 
otic  men  who  fell  at  this  time  in  various  strug 
gles  with  existing  governments.  Thus  were 
honored  the  "victims"  of  Milan,  of  Naples,  of 
Venice,  of  Vienna. 

Not  long  after  the  assassination  of  Rossi,  the 
Pope,  imploring  the  protection  of  the  King  of 
Naples,  fled  to  Gaeta. 


240  MARGARET  FULLER. 

"  No  more  of  him,"  writes  Margaret ;  "  his  day 
is  over.  He  has  been  made,  it  seems  uncon 
sciously,  an  instrument  of  good  which  his  re 
grets  cannot  destroy." 

The  political  consequences  of  this  act  were 
scarcely  foreseen  by  the  Romans,  who,  accord 
ing  to  Margaret's  account,  remained  quite  cool 
and  composed,  saying  only :  "  The  Pope,  the 
cardinals,  the  princes  are  gone,  and  Rome  is 
perfectly  tranquil.  One  does  not  miss  anything, 
except  that  there  are  not  so  many  rich  carriages 
and  liveries." 

In  February  Margaret  chronicles  the  opening 
of  the  Constitutional  Assembly,  which  was  her 
alded  by  a  fine  procession,  with  much  display  of 
banners.  In  this,  Prince  Canino,  a  nephew  of 
Napoleon,  walked  side  by  side  with  Garibaldi, 
both  having  been  chosen  deputies.  Margaret 
saw  this  from  a  balcony  in  the  Piazza  di  Vene- 
zia,  whose  stern  old  palace  "seemed  to  frown, 
as  the  bands  each,  in  passing,  struck  up  the 
Marseillaise^  On  February  gth  the  bells  were 
rung  in  honor  of  the  formation  of  a  Roman  Re 
public.  The  next  day  Margaret  went  forth  early, 
to  observe  the  face  of  Rome.  She  saw  the  pro 
cession  of  deputies  mount  the  Campidoglio  (Cap 
itol),  with  the  Guardia  Civica  for  their  escort. 
Here  was  promulgated  the  decree  announcing 
the  formation  of  the  Republic,  and  guarantee- 


INTEREST  IN  PUBLIC  AFFAIRS.      241 

ing  to  the  Pope  the  undisturbed  exercise  of  his 
spiritual  power. 

The  Grand  Duke  of  Tuscany  now  fled,  smiling 
assent  to  liberal  principles  as  he  entered  his 
carriage  to  depart.  The  King  of  Sardinia  was 
naturally  filled  with  alarm.  "  It  makes  -no  dif 
ference,"  says  Margaret.  "  He  and  his  minister, 
Gioberti,  must  go,  unless  foreign  intervention 
should  impede  the  liberal  movement.  In  this 
case,  the  question  is,  what  will  France  do  ? 
Will  she  basely  forfeit  every  pledge  and  every 
duty,  to  say  nothing  of  her  true  interest  ? " 
Alas!  France  was  already  sold  to  the  coun 
terfeit  greatness  of  a  name,  and  was  pledged 
to  a  course  irrational  and  vulgar  beyond  any 
that  she  had  yet  followed.  The  Roman  Re 
public,  born  of  high  hope  and  courage,  had 
but  few  days  to  live,  and  those  days  were  full 
of  woe. 

Margaret  had  so  made  the  life  of  Rome  her 
own  at  this  period,  that  we  have  found  it  impos 
sible  to  describe  the  one  without  recounting 
something  of  the  other.  Her  intense  interest 
in  public  affairs  could  not,  however,  wean  her 
thoughts  from  the  little  babe  left  at  Rieti. 
Going  thither  in  December,  she  passed  a  week 
with  her  darling,  but  was  forced  after  this  to  re 
main  three  months  in  Rome  without  seeing  him. 
Here  she  lay  awake  whole  nights,  contriving  how 
16 


242  MARGARET  FULLER. 

she  might  end  this  painful  separation  ;  but  cir 
cumstances  were  too  strong  for  her,  and  the 
object  so  dearly  wished  for  could  not  be  com 
passed. 

In  March  she  visited  him  again,  and  found 
him  in  health,  "  and  plump,  though  small."  The 
baby  leaned  his  head  pathetically  against  her 
breast,  seeming,  she  thought,  to  say,  "  How 
could  you  leave  me  ? "  He  is  described  as  a 
sensitive  and  precocious  little  creature,  —  af 
fected,  Margaret  thought,  by  sympathy  with 
her  ;  "  for/'  she  says,  "  I  worked  very  hard  be 
fore  his  birth  [at  her  book  on  Italy],  with  the 
hope  that  all  my  spirit  might  be  incarnated  in 
him."  . 

She  returned  to  Rome  about  the  middle  of 
April.  The  French  were  already  in  Italy.  Their 
"  web  of  falsehood  "  was  drawing  closer  and 
closer  round  the  devoted  city.  Margaret  was 
not  able  to  visit  her  boy  again  until  the  siege, 
soon  begun,  ended  in  the  downfall  of  the  Roman 
Republic. 

The  government  of  Rome,  at  this  time,  was 
in  the  hands  of  a  triumvirate,  whose  names  — 
Armellini,  Mazzini,  and  Saffi  —  are  appended  to 
the  official  communications  made  in  answer  to 
the  letters  of  the  French  Envoy,  M.  de  Lesseps, 
and  of  the  Commander-in-Chief,  General  Oudinot. 
The  French  side  of  this  correspondence  pre- 


PRINCESS  BE  LG 10 JO  SO.  243 

sented  but  a  series  of  tergiversations,  the  truth 
being  simply  that  the  opportunity  of  reinstating 
the  Roman  Pontiff  in  his  temporal  domain  .was 
too  valuable  to  be  allowed  to  pass,  by  the  adven 
turer  who  then,  under  the  name  of  President, 
already  ruled  France  by  military  despotism.  In 
the  great  game  of  hazard  which  he  played,  the 
prospective  adhesion  of  the  Pope's  spiritual  sub 
jects  was  the  highest  card  he  could  hold.  The 
people  who  had  been  ignorant  enough  to  elect 
Louis  Napoleon,  were  easily  led  to  justify  his 
outrageous  expedition  to  Rome. 

In  Margaret's  manifold  disappointments,  Maz- 
zini  always  remained  her  ideal  of  a  patriot,  and, 
as  she  says,  of  a  prince.  To  her,  he  stands  alone 
in  Italy,  "  on  a  sunny  height,  far  above  the  stat 
ure  of  other  men."  He  came  to  her  lodgings  in 
Rome,  and  was  in  appearance  "more  divine  than 
ever,  after  all  his  new,  strange  sufferings."  He 
had  then  just  been  made  a  Roman  citizen,  and 
would  in  all  probability  have  been  made  Presi 
dent,  had  the  Republic  continued  to  exist.  He 
talked  long  with  Margaret,  and,  she  says,  was 
not  sanguine  as  to  the  outcome  of  the  difficulties 
of  the  moment. 

The  city  once  invested,  military  hospitals  be 
came  a  necessity.  The  Princess  Belgiojoso,  a 
Milanese  by  birth,  and  in  her  day  a  social  and 
political  notability,  undertook  to  organize  these 


244  MARGARET  FULLER. 

establishments,  and  obtained,  by  personal  solici 
tation,  the  funds  necessary  to  begin  her  work. 
On  the  3Oth  of  April,  1849,  sne  wrote  the  follow 
ing  letter  to  Margaret :  — 

"  DEAR  Miss  FULLER,  —  You  are  named  Su 
perintendent  of  the  Hospital  of  the  Fate  Bene 
Fratelli.  Go  there  at  twelve,  if  the  alarm-bell 
has  not  rung  before.  When  you  arrive  there, 
you  will  receive  all  the  women  coming  for  the 
wounded,  and  give  them  your  directions,  so  that 
you  are  sure  to  have  a  number  of  them,  night 
and  day. 

"  May  God  help  us  ! 

"  CHRISTINE  TRIVULZE,  OF  BELGIOJOSO." 


CHAPTER   XV. 

SIEGE   OF    ROME. MARGARET'S   CARE  OF  THE  SICK 

AND  WOUNDED.  ANXIETY  ABOUT  HER  HUSBAND 

AND  CHILD.  BATTLE  BETWEEN  THE  FRENCH  AND 

ITALIAN    TROOPS.  THE    SURRENDER.  GARIBAL- 

Dl's  DEPARTURE. MARGARET  JOINS  HER  HUSBAND 

AT    HIS    POST.  ANGELO'S    ILLNESS.  .  LETTERS 

FROM  FRIENDS  IN  AMERICA. PERUGIA. WINTER 

IN  FLORENCE.  —  MARGARET'S  DOMESTIC  LIFE. AS 
PECT  OF  HER  FUTURE.  —  HER  COURAGE  AND  INDUS 
TRY.  —  OSSOLl'S  AFFECTION  FOR  HER.  WILLIAM 

HENRY  HURLBUT'S  REMINISCENCES  OF  THEM  BOTH. 

LAST  DAYS  IN  FLORENCE. FAREWELL  VISIT  TO 

THE  DUOMO.  —  MARGARET'S  EVENINGS  AT  HOME.  — 
HORACE  SUMNER. MARGARET  AS  A  FRIEND  OF  THE 

PEOPLE. 

MARGARET  writes  to  Mr.  Emerson  in  June : 
"  Since  the  3Oth  of  April  I  go  almost  daily  to 
the  hospitals,  and,  though  I  have  suffered,  for  I 
had  no  idea  before  how  terrible  gun-shot  wounds 
and  wound-fever  are,  yet  I  have  taken  great  pleas 
ure  in  being  with  the  men.  There  is  scarcely 
one  who  is  not  moved  by  a  noble  spirit." 

"  Night  and  day,"  writes  the  friend  cited  above,1 
"  Margaret  was  occupied,  and,  with  the  Princess, 

1  Mrs.  Story. 


246  MARGARET  FULLER. 

so  ordered  and  disposed  the  hospitals  that  their 
conduct  was  admirable.  Of  money  they  had 
very  little,  and  they  were  obliged  to  give  their 
time  and  thoughts  in  its  place.  I  have  walked 
through  the  wards  with  Margaret,  and  have 
seen  how  comforting  was  her  presence  to  the 
poor  suffering  men.  For  each  one's  peculiar 
tastes  she  had  a  care.  To  one  she  carried 
books  ;  to  another  she  told  the  news  of  the  day  ; 
and  listened  to  another's  oft-repeated  tale  of 
wrongs,  as  the  best  sympathy  she  could  give. 
They  raised  themselves  on  their  elbows  to  get 
the  last  glimpse  of  her"  as  she  went  her  way. 

Ossoli,  meanwhile,  was  stationed,  with  his 
command,  on  the  walls  of  the  Vatican,  —  a  post 
of  considerable  danger.  This  he  refused  to  leave, 
even  for  necessary  food  and  rest.  The  provis 
ions  sent  him  from  time  to  time  were  shared 
with  his  needy  comrades.  As  these  men  were 
brought,  wounded  and  dying,  to  the  hospitals, 
Margaret  looked  eagerly  to  see  whether  her  hus 
band  was  among  them.  She  was  able,  some 
times,  to  visit  him  at  his  post,  and  to  talk  with 
him  about  the  beloved  child,  now  completely 
beyond  their  reach,  as  the  city  was  invested  on 
all  sides,  and  no  sure  means  of  communication 
open  to  them.  They  remained  for  many  days 
without  any  news  of  the  little  one,  and  their 
first  intelligence  concerning  him  was  to  the 


SIEGE  OF  ROME.  247 

effect  that  the  nurse  with  whom  he  had  been 
left  would  at  once  abandon  him  unless  a  certain 
sum  of  money  should  be  sent  in  prepayment  of 
her  services.  This  it  seemed  at  first  impossible 
to  do  ;  but  after  a  while  the  money  was  sent,  and 
the  evil  day  adjourned  for  a  time. 

Margaret's  letters  of  the  roth  of  June  speak 
of  a  terrible  battle  recently  fought  between  the 
French  troops  and  the  defenders  of  Rome.  The 
Italians,  she  says,  fought  like  lions,  making  a 
stand  for  honor  and  conscience'  sake,  with 
scarcely  any  prospect  of  success.  The  attack 
of  the  enemy  was  directed  with  a  skill  and 
order  which  Margaret  was  compelled  to  admire. 
The  loss  on  both  sides  was  heavy,  and  the  as 
sailants,  for  the  moment,  gained  "  no  inch  of 
ground."  But  this  was  only  the  beginning  of 
the  dread  trial.  By  the  2Oth  of  June  the  bom 
bardment  had  become  heavy.  On  the  night 
of  the  2  ist  a  practicable  breach  was  made,  and 
the  French  were  within  the  city.  The  defence, 
however,  was  valiantly  continued  until  the  3Oth, 
when  Garibaldi  informed  the  Assembly  that 
further  resistance  would  be  useless.  Conditions 
of  surrender  were  then  asked  for  and  refused. 
Garibaldi  himself  was  denied  a  safe-conduct,  and 
departed  with  his  troops  augmented  by  a  num 
ber  of  soldiers  from  other  regiments.  This  was 
on  July  2d,  after  it  became  known  that  the 


248  MARGARET  FULLER. 

French  army  would  take  possession  on  the  mor 
row.  Margaret  followed  the  departing  troops 
as  far  as  the  Place  of  St.  John  Lateran.  Never 
had  she  seen  a  sight  "  so  beautiful,  so  romantic, 
and  so  sad." 

The  grand  piazza  had  once  been  the  scene  of 
Rienzi's  triumph  :  "  The  sun  was  setting,  the 
crescent  nioon  rising,  the  flower  of  the  Italian 
youth  were  marshalling  in  that  solemn  place. 
They  had  all  put  on  the  beautiful  dress  of  the 
Garibaldi  legion,  —  the  tunic  of  bright  red  cloth, 
the  Greek  cap,  or  round  hat  with  puritan  plume. 
Their  long  hair  was  blown  back  from  resolute 
faces.  ...  I  saw  the  wounded,  all  that  could 
go,  laden  upon  their  baggage-cars.  I  saw  many 
youths,  born  to  rich  inheritance,  carrying  in  a 
handkerchief  all  their  worldly  goods.  The  wife 
of  Garibaldi  followed  him  on  horseback.  He 
himself  was  distinguished  by  the  white  tunic. 
His  look  was  entirely  that  of  a  hero  of  the 
Middle  Ages,  —  his  face  still  young.  .  .  .  He 
went  upon  the  parapet,  and  looked  upon  the 
road  with  a  spy-glass,  and,  no  obstruction  being 
in  sight,  he  turned  his  face  for  a  moment  back 
upon  Rome,  then  led  the  way  through  the  gate." 

Thus  ended  the  heroic  defence  of  Rome. 
The  French  occupation  began  on  the  next  day, 
with  martial  law  and  the  end  of  all  liberties. 
Alas !  that  it  was  not  given  to  Margaret  to 


DISCLOSURE   OF  HER   MARRIAGE.     249 

see  Garibaldi  come  again,  with  the  laurels  of 
an  abiding  victory  !  Alas  !  that  she  saw  not  the 
end  of  the  Napoleon  game,  and  the  punishment 
of  France  for  her  act  of  insensate  folly  ! 

It  was  during  these  days  of  fearful  trial  and 
anxiety  that  Margaret  confided  to  Mrs.  Story 
the  secret  of  her  marriage.  This  was  done,  not 
for  the  relief  of  her  own  overtasked  feelings, 
but  in  the  interest  of  her  child,  liable  at  this 
time  to  be  left  friendless  by  the  death  of  his 
parents.  Margaret,  in  her  extreme  anxiety  con 
cerning  her  husband's  safety,  became  so  ill  and 
feeble  that  the  duration  of  her  own  life  ap 
peared  to  her  very  uncertain.  In  a  moment  of 
great  depression  she  called  Mrs.  Story  to  her 
bedside,  related  to  her  all  the  antecedents  of  the 
birth  of  the  child,  and  showed  her,  among  other 
papers,  the  certificate  of  her  marriage,  and  of  her 
son's  legal  right  to  inherit  the  title  and  estate  of 
his  father.  These  papers  she  intrusted  to  Mrs. 
Story's  care,  requesting  her,  in  case  of  her  own 
death,  to  seek  her  boy  at  Rieti,  and  to  convey 
him  to  her  friends  in  America. 

To  Lewis  Cass,  at  that  time  American  Envoy 
to  the  Papal  Court,  the  same  secret  was  confided, 
and  under  circumstances  still  more  trying. 
Shortly  before  the  conclusion  of  the  siege,  Mar 
garet  learned  that  an  attack  would  probably  be 
made  upon  the  very  part  of  the  city  in  which 


250  MARGARET  FULLER. 

Ossoli  was  stationed  with  his  men.  She  accord 
ingly  sent  to  request  that  Mr.  Cass  would  call 
upon  her  at  once,  which  he  did.  He  found  her 
"  lying  on  a  sofa,  pale  and  trembling,  evidently 
much  exhausted."  After  informing  him  of  her 
marriage,  and  of  the  birth  and  whereabouts  of 
her  child,  she  confided  to  his  care  certain  im 
portant  documents,  to  be  sent,  in  the  event  of 
her  death,  to  her  family  in  America.  Her  hus 
band  was,  at  that  very  moment,  in  command  of 
a  battery  directly  exposed  to  the  fire  of  the 
French  artillery.  The  night  before  had  been 
one  of  great  danger  to  him,  and  Margaret,  in 
view  of  his  almost  certain  death,  had  determined 
to  pass  the  coming  night  at  his  post  with  him, 
and  to  share  his  fate,  whatever  it  might  be.  He 
had  promised  to  come  for  her  at  the  Ave  Maria, 
and  Mr.  Cass,  departing,  met.  him  at  the  porter's 
lodge,  and  shortly  afterward  beheld  them  walk 
ing  in  the  direction  of  his  command.  It  turned 
out  that  the  threatened  danger  did  not  visit 
them.  The  cannonading  from  this  point  was 
not  renewed,  and  on  the  morrow  military  opera 
tions  were  at  an  end. 

Among  our  few  pictures  of  Margaret  and  her 
husband,  how  characteristic  is  this  one,  of  the 
pair  walking  side  by  side  into  the  very  jaws  of 
death,  with  the  glory  of  faith  and  courage  bright 
about  them  ! 


ANGELAS  ILLNESS. 


The  gates  once  open,  Margaret's  first  thought 
was  of  Rieti,  and  her  boy  there.  Thither  she 
sped  without  delay,  arriving  just  in  time  to  save 
the  life  of  the  neglected  and  forsaken  child, 
whose  wicked  nurse,  uncertain  of  further  pay 
ment,  had  indeed  abandoned  him.  His  mother 
found  him  "  worn  to  a  skeleton,  too  weak  to 
smile,  or  lift  his  little  wasted  hand."  Four 
weeks  of  incessant  care  and  nursing  brought, 
still  in  wan  feebleness,  his  first  returning  smile. 

All  that  Margaret  had  already  endured  seemed 
to  her  light  in  comparison  with  this.  In  the 
Papal  States,  woman  had  clearly  fallen  behind 
even  the  standard  of  the  she-wolf. 

After  these  painful  excitements  came  a  season 
of  blessed  quietness  for  Margaret  and  her  dear 
ones.  Angelo  regained  his  infant  graces,  and 
became  full  of  life  and  of  baby  glee.  Margaret's 
marriage  was  suitably  acknowledged,  and  the 
pain  and  trouble  of  such  a  concealment  were 
at  end.  The  disclosure  of  the  relation  naturally 
excited  much  comment  in  Italy  and  in  America. 
In  both  countries  there  were  some,  no  doubt, 
who  chose  to  interpret  this  unexpected  action 
on  the  part  of  Margaret  in  a  manner  utterly  at 
variance  with  the  whole  tenor  and  spirit  of  her 
life.  The  general  feeling  was,  however,  quite 
otherwise  ;  and  it  is  gratifying  to  find  that,  while 
no  one  could  have  considered  Margaret's  mar- 


252  MARGARET  FULLER. 

riage  an  act  of  worldly  wisdom,  it  was  very  gen 
erally  accepted  by  her  friends  as  only  another 
instance  of  the  romantic  disinterestedness  which 
had  always  been  a  leading  trait  in  her  character. 

Writing  to  an  intimate  friend  in  America, 
she  remarks :  "  What  you  say  of  the  meddling 
curiosity  of  people  repels  me ;  it  is  so  different 
here.  When  I  made  my  appearance  with  a  hus 
band,  and  a  child  of  a  year  old,  nobody  did  the 
least  act  to  annoy  me.  All  were  most  cordial ; 
none  asked  or  implied  questions." 

She  had  already  written  to  Madame  Arconati, 
asking  whether  the  fact  of  her  concealed  mar 
riage  and  motherhood  would  make  any  differ 
ence  in  their  relations.  Her  friend,  a  lady  of 
the  highest  position  and  character,  replied  : 
"What  difference  can  it  make,  except  that  I 
shall  love  you  more,  now  that  we  can  sympa 
thize  as  mothers  ? " 

In  other  letters,  Margaret  speaks  of  the  lov 
ing  sympathy  expressed  for  her  by  relatives 
in  America.  The  attitude  of  her  brothers  was 
such  as  she  had  rightly  expected  it  to  be.  Her 
mother  received  the  communication  in  the  high 
est  spirit,  feeling  assured  that  a  leading  motive 
in  Margaret's  withholding  of  confidence  from  her 
had  been  the  desire  to  spare  her  a  season  of 
most  painful  anxiety.  Speaking  of  a  letter  re 
cently  received  from  her,  Margaret  says :  — 


WINTER  IN  FLORENCE.  253 

"  She  blessed  us.  She  rejoiced  that  she 
should  not  die  feeling  there  was  no  one  left 
to  love  me  with  the  devotion  she  thought  I 
needed.  She  expressed  no  regret  at  our  pov 
erty,  but  offered  her  feeble  means." 

After  a  stay  of  some  weeks  at  Rieti,  Margaret, 
with  her  husband  and  child,  journeyed  to  Peru 
gia,  and  thence  to  Florence.  At  the  former 
place  she  remained  long  enough  to  read  D'  Aze- 
glio's  "  Nicolo  dei  Lapi,"  which  she  esteemed  "  a 
book  unenlivened  by  a  spark  of  genius,  but  inter 
esting  as  illustrative  of  Florence."  Here  she  felt 
that  she  understood,  for  the  first  time,  the  depth 
and  tenderness  of  the  Umbrian  school. 

The  party  reached  Florence  late  in  Septem 
ber,  and  were  soon  established  in  lodgings  for 
the  winter.  The  police  at  first  made  some  ob 
jection  to  their  remaining  in  the  city,  but  this 
matter  was  soon  settled  to  their  satisfaction. 
Margaret's  thoughts  now  turned  toward  her  own 
country  and  her  own  people  :  — 

"  It  will  be  sad  to  leave  Italy,  uncertain  of 
return.  Yet  when  I  think  of  you,  beloved 
mother,  of  brothers  and  sisters  and  many 
friends,  I  wish  to  come.  Ossoli  is  perfectly 
willing.  He  will  go  among  strangers  ;  but  to 
him,  as  to  all  the  young  Italians,  America  seems 
the  land  of  liberty." 

Margaret's  home-letters  give  lovely  glimpses 


254  MARGARET  FULLER. 

of  this  season  of  peace.  Her  modest  establish 
ment  was  served  by  Angelo's  nurse,  with  a  little 
occasional  aid  from  the  porter's  wife.  The  boy 
himself  was  now  in  rosy  health  ;  as  his  mother 
says,  "  a  very  gay,  impetuous,  ardent,  but  sweet- 
tempered  child."  She  describes  with  a  mother's 
delight  his  visit  to  her  room  at  first  waking, 
when  he  pulls  her  curtain  aside,  and  goes 
through  his  pretty  routine  of  baby  tricks  for  her 
amusement,  —  laughing,  crowing,  imitating  the 
sound  of  the  bellows,  and  even  saying  "  Bravo  !  " 
Then  comes  'his  bath,  which  she  herself  gives 
him,  and  then  his  walk  and  mid-day  sleep. 

"  I  feel  so  refreshed  by  his  young  life,  and 
Ossoli  diffuses  such  a  power  and  sweetness  over 
every  day,  that  I  cannot  endure  to  think  yet  of 
our  future.  We  have  resolved  to  enjoy  being 
together  as  much  as  we  can  in  this  brief  interval, 
perhaps  all  we  shall  ever  know  of  peace.  I  re 
joice  in  all  that  Ossoli  did  (in  the  interest  of  the 
liberal  party) ;  but  the  results  are  disastrous, 
especially  as  my  strength  is  now  so  impaired. 
This  much  I  hope,  in  life  or  death,  to  be  no  more 
separated  from  Angelo." 

Margaret's  future  did  indeed  look  to  her  full  of 
difficult  duties.  At  forty  years  of  age,  having 
labored  all  her  life  for  her  father's  family,  she 
was  to  begin  a  new  struggle  for  her  own.  She 
had  looked  this  necessity  bravely  in  the  face,  and 


COURAGE  AND   INDUSTRY.          2$$ 

with  resolute  hand  had  worked  at  a  history  of 
recent  events  in  Italy,  hoping  thus  to  make  a 
start  in  the  second  act  of  her  life-work.  The 
two  volumes  which  she  had  completed  by  this 
time  seemed  to  her  impaired  in  value  by  the 
intense,  personal  suffering  which  had  lain  like 
a  weight  upon  her.  Such  leisure  as  the  care  of 
Angelo  left  her,  while  in  Florence,  was  employed 
in  the  continuation  of  this  work,  whose  loss  we 
deplore  the  more  for  the  intense  personal  feeling 
which  must  have  throbbed  through  its  pages. 
Margaret  had  hoped  to  pass  this  winter  without 
any  enforced  literary  labor,  learning  of  her  child, 
as  she  wisely  says,  and  as  no  doubt  she  did, 
whatever  else  she  may  have  found  it  necessary 
to  do.  *  In  the  chronicle  of  her  days  he  plays 
an  important  part,  his  baby  laugh  "  all  dimples 
and  glitter,"  his  contentment  in  the  fair  scene 
about  him  when,  carried  to  the  Caserne,  he  lies 
back  in  her  arms,  smiling,  singing  to  himself, 
and  moving  his  tiny  feet.  The  Christmas  holi 
days  are  dearer  to  her  than  ever  before,  for  his 
sake.  In  the  evening,  before  the  bright  little 
fire,  he  sits  on  his  stool  between  father  and 
mother,  reminding  Margaret  of  the  days  in 
which  she  had  been  so  seated  between  her  own 
parents.  He  is  to  her  "a  source  of  ineffable 
joys,  far  purer,  deeper,  than  anything  I  ever 
felt  before." 


256  MARGARET  FULLER. 

As  Margaret's  husband  was  destined  to  re 
main  a  tradition  only  to  the  greater  number  of 
her  friends,  the  hints  and  outlines  of  him  given 
here  and  there  in  her  letters  are  important,  in 
showing  us  what  companionship  she  had  gained 
in  return  for  her  great  sacrifice. 

Ossoli  seems  to  have  belonged  to  a  type  of 
character  the  very  opposite  of  that  which  Mar 
garet  had  best  known  and  most  admired.  To 
one  wearied  with  the  over-intellection  and  rest 
less  aspiration  of  the  accomplished  New  Eng- 
lander  of  that  time,  the  simple  geniality  of  the 
Italian  nature  had  all  the  charm  of  novelty  and 
contrast.  Margaret  had  delighted  in  the  race 
from  her  first  acquaintance  with  it,  but  had 
found  its  happy  endowments  heavily  weighted 
with  traits  of  meanness  and  ferocity.  In  her 
husband  she  found  its  most  worthy  features,  and 
her  heart,  wearied  with  long  seeking  and  wan 
dering,  rested  at  last  in  the  confidence  of  a 
simple  and  faithful  attachment. 

She  writes  from  Florence :  "  My  love  for 
Ossoli  is  most  pure  and  tender  ;  nor  has  any 
one,  except  my  mother  or  little  children,  loved 
me  so  genuinely  as  he  does.  To  some,  I  have 
been  obliged  to  make  myself  known.  Others 
have  loved  me  with  a  mixture  of  fancy  and  en 
thusiasm,  excited  at  my  talent  of  embellishing 
life.  But  Ossoli  loves  me  from  simple  affinity  ; 


MR.  HURLBUTS  REMINISCENCES.     257 

he  loves  to  be  with  me,  and  to  serve  and  soothe 
me." 

And  in  another  letter  she  says  :  "  Ossoli  will 
be  a  good  father.  He  has  very  little  of  what  is 
called  intellectual  development,  but  has  unspoiled 
instincts,  affections  pure  and  constant,  and  a  quiet 
sense  of  duty  which,  to  me  who  have  seen  much 
of  the  great  faults  in  characters  of  enthusiasm 
and  genius,  seems  of  highest  value." 

Some  reminiscences  contributed  by  the  ac 
complished  litterateur,  William  Henry  Hurlbut, 
will  help  to  complete  the  dim  portrait  of  the 
Marchese :  — 

"  The  frank  and  simple  recognition  of  his 
wife's  singular  nobleness,  which  he  always  dis 
played,  was  the  best  evidence  that  his  own  na 
ture  was  of  a  fine  and  noble  strain.  And  those 
who  knew  him  best  are,  I  believe,  unanimous  in 
testifying  that  his  character  did  in  no  respect 
belie  the  evidence  borne  by  his  manly  and  truth 
ful  countenance  to  its  warmth  and  sincerity. 
He  seemed  quite  absorbed  in  his  wife  and  child. 
I  cannot  remember  ever  to  have  found  Madame 
Ossoli  alone,  on  the  evenings  when  she  remained 
at  home." 

Mr.  Hurlbut  says  further:     "Notwithstanding 

his  general   reserve  and  curtness  of  speech,  on 

two    or   three   occasions    he  showed  himself  to 

possess  quite  a  quick  and  vivid  fancy,  and  even  a 

17 


258  MARGARET  FULLER. 

certain  share  of  humor.  I  have  heard  him  tell 
stories  remarkably  well.  One  tale  especially, 
which  related  to  a  dream  he  had  in  early  life,  I 
remember  as  being  told  with  great  felicity  and 
vivacity  of  expression." 

Though  opposed,  like  all  liberals,  to  the  eccle 
siastical  government  of  Rome,  the  Marchese 
appeared  to  Mr.  Hurlbut  a  devout  Catholic.  He 
often  attended  vesper  services  in  Florence,  and 
Margaret,  unwavering  in  her  Protestantism,  still 
found  it  sweet  to  kneel  by  his  side. 

Margaret  read,  this  winter,  Louis  Blanc's 
"  Story  of  Ten  Years,"  and  Lamartine's  "  Gi 
rondists."  Her  days  were  divided  between  fam 
ily  cares  and  her  literary  work,  which  for  the 
time  consisted  in  recording  her  impressions  of 
recent  events.  She  sometimes  passed  an  even 
ing  at  the  rooms  occupied  by  the  Mozier  and 
Chapman  families,  where  the  Americans  then 
resident  in  Florence  were  often  gathered  to 
gether.  She  met  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Browning  often, 
and  with  great  pleasure.  The  Marchesa  Arconati 
she  saw  almost  daily. 

One  of  Margaret's  last  descriptions  is  of  the 
Duomo,1  which  she  visited  with  her  husband  on 
Christmas  eve :  — 

"No  one  was  there.  Only  the  altars  were  lit 
up,  and  the  priests,  who  were  singing,  could  not 

1  Cathedral. 


FAREWELL   VISIT   TO   THE  DUO  MO.     259 

be  seen  by  the  faint  light.  The  vast  solemnity 
of  the  interior  is  thus  really  felt.  The  Duomo 
is  more  divine  than  St.  Peter's,  and  worthy  of 
genius  pure  and  unbroken.  St.  Peter's  is,  Jike 
Rome,  a  mixture  of  sublimest  heaven  with  cor- 
ruptest  earth.  I  adore  the  Duomo,  though  no 
place  can  now  be  to  me  like  St.  Peter's,  where 
has  been  passed  the  splendidest  part  of  my 
life." 

Thus  looked  to  her,  in  remembrance,  the  spot 
where  she  had  first  met  her  husband,  where  she 
had  shared  his  heroic  vigils,  and  stood  beside 
him  within  reach  of  death. 

The  little  household  suffered  some  inconven 
ience  before  the  winter  was  over.  By  the  mid 
dle  of  December  the  weather  became  severely 
cold,  and  Margaret  once  more  experienced  the 
inconvenience  of  ordinary  lodgings  in  Italy,  in 
which  the  means  of  heating  the  rooms  are  very 
limited.  The  baby  grew  impatient  of  confine 
ment,  and  constantly  pointed  to  the  door,  which 
he  was  not  allowed  to  pass.  Of  their  several 
rooms,  one  only  was  comfortable  under  these 
circumstances.  Of  this,  as  occupied  in  the 
winter  evenings,  Mr.  Hurlbut  has  given  a 
pleasant  description :  — 

"  A  small,  square  room,  sparingly  yet  suffi 
ciently  furnished,  with  polished  floor  and  fres 
coed  ceiling ;  and,  drawn  up  closely  before  the 


260  MARGARET  FULLER. 

cheerful  fire,  an  oval  table,  on  which  stood  a 
monkish  lamp  of  brass,  with  depending  chains 
that  support  quaint  classic  cups  for  the  olive  oil. 
There,  seated  beside  his  wife,  I  was  sure  to  find 
the  Marchese,  reading  from  some  patriotic  book, 
and  dressed  in  the  dark  brown,  red-corded  coat 
of  the  Guardia  Civica,  which  it  was  his  melan 
choly  pleasure  to  wear  at  home.  So  long  as  the 
conversation  could  be  carried  on  in  Italian,  he 
used  to  remain,  though  he  rarely  joined  in  it  to 
any  considerable  degree.  If  many  fores  fieri1 
chanced  to  drop  in,  he  betook  himself  to 
a  neighboring  cafe,  —  not  absenting  himself 
through  aversion  to  such  visitors,  but  in  the 
fear  lest  his  silent  presence  might  weigh  upon 
them." 

To  complete  the  picture  here  given  of  the 
Ossoli  interior,  we  should  mention  Horace,  the 
youngest  brother  of  Charles  Sumner,  who  was  a 
daily  visitor  in  this  abode  of  peace.  Margaret 
says  of  him  :  "  He  has  solid  good  in  his  mind 
and  heart.  .  .  When  I  am  ill,  or  in  a  hurry,  he 
helps  me  like  a  brother.  Ossoli  and  Sum 
ner  exchange  some  instruction  in  English  and 
Italian." 

This  young  man,  remembered  by  those  who 
knew  him  as  most  amiable  and  estimable,  was 
abroad  at  this  time  for  his  health,  and  passed 

1  Foreigners. 


INTERCOURSE    WITH   THE  PEOPLE.     261 

the  winter  in  Florence.  Mr.  Hurlbut  tells  us 
that  he  brought  Margaret,  every  morning,  his 
tribute  of  fresh  wild  flowers,  and  that  every 
evening,  "beside  her  seat  in  her  little  room,  his 
mild,  pure  face  was  to  be  seen,  bright  with  a 
quiet  happiness/'  which  was  in  part  derived 
from  her  kindness  and  .sympathy, 

This  brief  chronicle  of  Margaret's  last  days  in 
Italy  would  be  incomplete  without  a  few  words 
concerning  the  enviable  position  which  she  had 
made  for  herself  in  this  country  of  her  adop 
tion. 

The  way  in  which  the  intelligence  of  her 
marriage  was  received  by  her  country-people  in 
Rome  and  Florence  gives  the  strongest  proof 
of  the  great  esteem  in  which  they  were  con 
strained  to  hold  her.  Equally  honorable  to  her 
was  the  friendship  of  Madame  Arconati,  a  lady 
of  high  rank  and  higher  merit,  beloved  and 
revered  as  few  were  in  the  Milan  of  that  day. 
She  was  the  friend  of  Joseph  Mazzini,  and 
shared  with  George  Sand  and  Elizabeth  Barrett 
Browning  the  honors  of  prominence  in  the  lib 
eral  movement  and  aspiration  of  the  time.  But 
it  is  in  her  intercourse  with  the  people  at  large 
that  we  shall  find  the  deepest  evidence  of  her 
true  humanity.  Hers  was  no  barren  creed, 
divorced  from  beneficent  action.  The  wounded 
soldiers  in  the  hospital,  the  rude  peasants  of 


262  MARGARET  FULLER. 

Rieti,  knew  her  heart,  and  thought  of  her  as  "  a 
mild  saint  and  ministering  angel."  l  Ferocious 
and  grasping  as  these  peasants  were,  she  was 
able  to  overcome  for  the  time  their  savage  in 
stincts,  and  to  turn  the  tide  of  their  ungoverned 
passions. 

In  this  place,  two  brothers  were  one  day  saved 
from  the  guilt  of  fratricide  by  her  calm  and  firm 
intervention.  Both  of  the  men  were  furiously 
angry,  and  blood  had  already  been  drawn  by  the 
knife  of  one,  when  she  stepped  between  them, 
and  so  reasoned  and  insisted,  that  the  weapons 
were  presently  flung  away,  and  the  feud  healed 
by  a  fraternal  embrace.  After  this  occurrence, 
the  American  lady  was  recognized  as  a  peace 
maker,  and  differences  of  various  sorts  were 
referred  to  her  for  settlement,  much  as  domestic 
and  personal  difficulties  had  been  submitted  to 
her  in  her  own  New  England. 

Among  the  troubles  brought  under  her  notice 
at  Rieti  were  the  constant  annoyances  caused 
by  the  lawless  behavior  of  a  number  of  Spanish 
troops  who  happened  to  be  quartered  upon  the 
town.  Between  these  and  the  villagers  she  suc 
ceeded  in  keeping  the  peace  by  means  of  good 
counsel  and  enforced  patience.  In  Florence 
she  seems  to  have  been  equally  beloved  and  re 
spected.  A  quarrel  here  took  place  between 

1  Mrs.  Story's  reminiscences. 


INTERCOURSE   WITH  THE  PEOPLE.     263 

her  maid,  from  Rieti,  and  a  fellow-lodger,  in 
which  her  earnest  effort  prevented  bloodshed, 
and  effectually  healed  the  breach  between  the 
two  women.  The  porter  of  the  house  in  which 
she  dwelt  while  in  Florence  was  slowly  dying  of 
consumption  ;  Margaret's  kindness  so  attached 
him  to  her  that  he  always  spoke  of  her  as  la 
cara  signora. 

The  unruly  Garibaldi  Legion  overtook  Marga 
ret  one  day  between  Rome  and  Rieti.  She  had 
been  to  visit  her  child  at  the  latter  place,  and 
was  returning  to  Rome  alone  in  a  vettura.  While 
she  was  resting  for  an  hour  at  a  wayside  inn,  the 
master  of  the  house  entered  in  great  alarm,  cry 
ing  :  "  We  are  lost !  Here  is  the  Legion  Gari 
baldi  !  These  men  always  pillage,  and,  if  we  do 
not  give  all  up  to  them  without  pay,  they  will 
kill  us."  Looking  out  upon  the  road,  Margaret 
saw  that  the  men  so  much  dreaded  were  indeed 
close  at  hand.  For  a  moment  she  felt  some 
alarm,  thinking  that  they  might  insist  upon  tak 
ing  the  horses  from  her  carriage,  and  thus  render 
it  impossible  for  her  to  proceed  on  her  journey. 
Another  moment,  and  she  had  found  a  device  to 
touch  their  better  nature.  As  the  troop  entered, 
noisy  and  disorderly,  Margaret  rose  and  said  to 
the  innkeeper:  "Give  these  good  men  bread 
and  wine  at  my  expense,  for  after  their  ride  they 
must  need  refreshment."  The  men  at  once  be- 


264  MARGARET  FULLER. 

came  quiet  and  respectful.  They  partook  of 
the  offered  hospitality  with  the  best  grace,  and 
at  parting  escorted  her  to  her  carriage,  and 
took  leave  of  her  with  great  deference.  She 
drove  off,  wondering  at  their  bad  reputation. 
They  probably  were  equally  astonished  at  her 
dignity  and  friendliness. 

The  statements  of  Margaret's  friends  touch 
us  with  their  account  of  the  charities  which  this 
poor  woman  was  able  to  afford  through  economy 
and  self-sacrifice.  When  she  allowed  herself 
only  the  bare  necessaries  of  living  and  diet,  she 
could  have  the  courage  to  lend  fifty  dollars  to 
an  artist  whom  she  deemed  poorer  than  herself. 
Rich  indeed  was  this  generous  heart,  to  an 
extent  undreamed  of  by  wealthy  collectors  and 
pleasure-seekers. 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

MARGARET  TURNS  HER  FACE   HOMEWARD.  —  LAST  LET 
TER  TO  HER  MOTHER.  THE  BARQUE  "  ELIZABETH." 

—  PRESAGES    AND    OMENS.  DEATH    OF    THE    CAP 
TAIN.  ANGELO'S    ILLNESS.  THE    WRECK.  THE 

LONG   STRUGGLE.  THE    END. FINAL  ESTIMATE   OF 

MARGARET'S  CHARACTER. 

RETURN  to  her  own  country  now  lay  immedi 
ately  before  Margaret.  In  the  land  of  her  adop 
tion  the  struggle  for  freedom  had  failed,  and  no 
human  foresight  could  have  predicted  the  period 
of  its  renewal.  Europe  had  cried  out,  like  the 
sluggard  on  his  bed  :  "  You  have  waked  me  too 
soon  ;  I  must  slumber  again." 

Margaret's  delight  in  the  new  beauties  and 
resources  unfolded  to  her  in  various  European 
countries,  and  especially  in  Italy,  had  made  the 
thought  of  this  return  unwelcome  to  her.  But 
now  that  free  thought  had  become  contraband 
in  the  beautiful  land,  where  should  she  carry  her 
high-hearted  hopes,  if  not  westward,  with  the 
tide  of  the  true  empire  that  shall  grow  out  of 
man's  conquest  of  his  own  brute  passions  ? 

This  holy  westward  way,  found  of  Columbus, 
broadened  and  brightened  by  the  Pilgrims,  and 


266  MARGARET  FULLER. 

become  an  ocean  highway  for  the  nations  of  the 
earth,  lay  open  to  her.  From  its  farther  end 
came  to  her  the  loving  voices  of  kindred,  and 
friends  of  youth.  There  she,  a  mother,  could 
"  show  her  babe,  and  make  her  boast,"  to  a 
mother  of  her  own.  There  brothers,  trained  to 
noble  manhood  through  her  care  and  labor,  could 
rise  up  to  requite  something  of  what  they  owed 
her.  There  she  could  tell  the  story  of  her  Italy, 
with  the  chance  of  a  good  hearing.  There,  where 
she  had  sown  most  precious  seed  in  the  field  of 
the  younger  generations,  she  would  find  some 
sheaves  to  bind  for  her  own  heart-harvest. 

And  so  the  last  days  in  Florence  came.  The 
vessel  was  chosen,  and  the  day  of  sailing  fixed 
upon.  Margaret's  last  letter,  addressed  to  her 
mother,  is  dated  on  the  I4th  of  May. 

We  read  it  now  with  a  weight  of  sorrow  which 
was  hidden  from  her.  In  the  light  of  what  after 
wards  took  place,  it  has  the  sweet  solemnity 
of  a  greeting  sent  from  the  borders  of  another 
world. 

"  FLORENCE,  May  14,  1850. 

"  I  will  believe  I  shall  be  welcome  with  my 
treasures,  —  my  husband  and  child.  For  me,  I 
long  so  much  to  see  you  !  Should  anything 
hinder  our  meeting  upon  earth,  think  of  your 
daughter  as  one  who  always  wished,  at  least, 
to  do  her  duty,  and  who  always  cherished 


LAST  LETTER    TO   HER  MOTHER.     267 

you,  according  as  her  mind  opened  to  discover 
excellence. 

"  Give  dear  love,  too,  to  my  brothers  ;  and  first, 
to  my  eldest,  faithful  friend,  Eugene  ;  a  sister's 
love  to  Ellen  ;  love  to  my  kind  and  good  aunts, 
and  to  my  dear  cousin  E .  God  bless  them  ! 

"  I  hope  we  shall  be  able  to  pass  some  time 
together  yet,  in  this  world.     But,  if  God  decrees 
otherwise,  here  and  hereafter,  my  dearest  mother, 
"  Your  loving  child, 

"  MARGARET." 

Who  is  there  that  reads  twice  a  sorrowful 
story  without  entertaining  an  unreasonable  hope 
that  its  ending  may  change  in  the  reperusal  ?  So 
does  one  return  to  the  fate  of  "  Paul  and  Vir 
ginia,"  so  to  that  of  the  "  Bride  of  Lammermoor." 
So,  even  in  the  wild  tragedy  of  "  Othello,"  seen 
for  the  hundredth  time,  one  still  sees  a  way 
of  escape  for  the  victim  ;  still,  in  imagination, 
implores  her  to  follow  it.  And  when  repeated 
representation  has  made  assurance  doubly  sure, 
we  yield  to  the  mandate  which  none  can  resist, 
once  issued,  and  say,  "  It  was  to  be." 

This  unreasonable  struggle  renews  itself  with 
in  us  as  we  follow  the  narrative  of  Margaret's 
departure  for  her  native  land.  Why  did  she 
choose  a  merchant  vessel  from  Leghorn  ?  why 
one  which  was  destined  to  carry  in  its  hold 


268  MARGARET  FULLER. 

the  heavy  marble  of  Powers's  Greek  Slave  ? 
She  was  warned  against  this,  was  uncertain 
in  her  own  mind,  and  disturbed  by  presages  of 
ill.  But  economy  was  very  necessary  to  her  at 
the  moment.  The  vessel  chosen,  the  barque 
"  Elizabeth,"  was  new,  strong,  and  ably  com 
manded.  Margaret  had  seen  and  made  friends 
with  the  captain,  Hasty  by  name,  and  his  wife. 
Horace  Sumner  was  to  be  their  fellow-passenger, 
and  a  young  Italian  girl,  Celeste  Paolini,  engaged 
to  help  in  the  care  of  the  little  boy.  These  con 
siderations  carried  the  day. 

Just  before  leaving  Florence,  Margaret  re 
ceived  letters  the  tenor  of  which  would  have 
enabled  her  to  remain  longer  in  Italy.  Ossoli 
remembered  the  warning  of  a  fortune-teller, 
who  in  his  childhood  had  told  him  to  beware  of 
the  sea.  Margaret  wrote  of  omens  which  gave 
her  "  a  dark  feeling."  She  had  "  a  vague  ex 
pectation  of  some  crisis,"  she  knows  not  what ; 
and  this  year,  1850,  had  long  appeared  to  her  a 
period  of  pause  in  the  ascent  of  life,  a  point  at 
which  she  should  stand,  as  "  on  a  plateau,  and 
take  more  clear  and  commanding  views  than  ever 
before."  She  prays  fervently  that  she  may  not 
lose  her  boy  at  sea,  "either  by  unsolaced  illness, 
or  amid  the  howling  waves  ;  or  if  so,  that  Ossoli, 
Angelo,  and  I  may  go  together,  and  that  the 
anguish  may  be  brief." 


ANGELAS  ILLNESS.  269 

These  presentiments,  strangely  prophetic,  re 
turned  upon  Margaret  with  so  much  force  that 
on  the  very  clay  appointed  for  sailing,  the  i/th 
of  May,  she  stood  at  bay  before  them  for  an 
hour,  unable  to  decide  whether  she  should  go 
or  stay.  But  she  had  appointed  a  general  meet 
ing  with  her  family  in  July,  and  had  positively 
engaged  her  passage  in  the  barque.  Fidelity  to 
these  engagements  prevailed  with  her.  She 
may  have  felt,  too,  the  danger  of  being  gov 
erned  by  vague  forebodings  which,  shunning 
death  in  one  form,  often  invite  it  in  another. 
And  so,  in  spite  of  fears  and  omens,  too  well 
justified  in  the  sequel,  she  went  on  board,  and 
the  voyage  began  in  smooth  tranquillity. 

The  first  days  at  sea  passed  quietly  enough. 
The  boy  played  on  the  deck,  or  was  carried 
about  by  the  captain.  Margaret  and  her  hus 
band  suffered  little  inconvenience  from  sea 
sickness,  and  were  soon  walking  together  in  the 
limited  space  of  their  floating  home.  But  pres 
ently  the  good  captain  fell  ill  with  small-pox 
of  a  malignant  type.  On  June  3d  the  barque 
anchored  off  Gibraltar,  the  commander  breathed 
his  last,  and  was  accorded  a  seaman's  burial,  in 
the  sea.  Here  the  ship  suffered  a  detention 
of  some  days  from  unfavorable  winds,  but  on 
the  9th  was  able  to  proceed  on  her  way;  and 
two  days  later  Angelo  showed  symptoms  of  the 


2/0  MARGARET  FULLER. 

dreadful  disease,  which  visited  him  severely. 
His  eyes  were  closed,  his  head  swollen,  his  body 
disfigured  by  the  accompanying  eruption.  Mar 
garet  and  Ossoli,  strangers  to  the  disease,  hung 
over  their  darling,  and  nursed  him  so  tenderly 
that  he  was  in  due  time  restored,  not  only  to 
health,  but  also  to  his  baby  beauty,  so  much 
prized  by  his  mother. 

Margaret  wrote  from  Gibraltar,  describing  the 
captain's  illness  and  death,  and  giving  a  graphic 
picture  of  his  ocean  funeral.  She  did  not  at 
the  time  foresee  Angelo's  illness,  but  knew  that 
he  might  easily  have  taken  the  infection.  Re 
lieved  from  this  painful  anxiety,  the  routine  of 
the  voyage  re-established  itself.  Ossoli  and 
Sumner  continued  to  instruct  each  other  in  their 
respective  languages.  The  baby  became  the 
pet  and  delight  of  the  sailors.  Margaret  was 
busy  with  her  book  on  Italy,  but  found  time  to 
soothe  and  comfort  the  disconsolate  widow  of 
the  captain  after  her  own  availing  fashion.  Thus 
passed  the  summer  days  at  sea.  On  Thursday, 
July  1 8th,  the  "Elizabeth"  was  off  the  Jersey 
coast,  in  thick  weather,  the  wind  blowing  east  of 
south.  The  former  mate  was  now  the  captain. 
Wishing  to  avoid  the  coast,  he  sailed  east-north 
east,  thinking  presently  to  take  a  pilot,  and  pass 
Sandy  Hook  by  favor  of  the  wind. 

At  night  he  promised  his  passengers  an  early 


A    DANGEROUS   STORM.  2/1 

arrival  in  New  York.  They  retired  to  rest  in 
good  spirits,  having  previously  made  all-  the 
usual  preparations  for  going  on  shore. 

By  nine  o'clock  that  evening  the  breeze  had 
become  a  gale,  by  midnight  a  dangerous  storm. 
The  commander,  casting  the  lead  from  time  to 
time,  was  without  apprehension,  having,  it  is 
supposed,  mistaken  his  locality,  and  miscal 
culated  the  speed  of  the  vessel,  which,  under 
close-reefed  sails,  was  nearing  the  sand-bars  of 
Long  Island.  Here,  on  Fire  Island  beach,  she 
struck,  at  four  o'clock  on  the  morning  of  July 
1 9th.  The  main  and  mizzen  masts  were  promptly 
cut  away,  but  the  heavy  marble  had  broken 
through  the  hold,  and  the  waters  rushed  in.  The 
bow  of  the  vessel  stuck  fast  in  the  sand,  her 
stern  swung  around,  and  she  lay  with  her  broad 
side  exposed  to  the  breakers,  which  swept  over 
her  with  each  returning  rise,  —  a  wreck  to  be 
saved  by  no  human  power. 

The  passengers  sprang  from  their  berths, 
aroused  by  the  dreadful  shock,  and  guessing  but 
too  well  its  import.  Then  came  the  crash  of  the 
falling  masts,  the  roar  of  the  waves,  as  they  shat 
tered  the  cabin  skylight  and  poured  down  into  the 
cabin,  extinguishing  the  lights.  These  features 
of  the  moment  are  related  as  recalled  by  Mrs. 
Hasty,  sole  survivor  of  the  passengers.  One 
scream  only  was  heard  from  Margaret's  state- 


2/2  MARGARET  FULLER. 

room.  Mrs.  Hasty  and  Horace  Sumner  met  in 
the  cabin  and  clasped  hands.  "  We  must  die  !  " 
was  his  exclamation.  "  Let  us  die  calmly,"  said 
the  resolute  woman.  "  I  hope  so,"  answered  he. 
The  leeward  side  of  the  cabin  was  already  under 
water,  but  its  windward  side  still  gave  shelter, 
and  here,  for  three  hours,  the  passengers  took 
refuge,  their  feet  braced  against  the  long  table. 
The  baby  shrieked,  as  well  he  might,  with  the 
sudden  fright,  the  noise  and  chill  of  the  water. 
But  his  mother  wrapped  him  as  warmly  as  she 
could,  and  in  her  agony  cradled  him  on  her 
bosom  and  sang  him  to  sleep.  The  girl  Celeste 
was  beside  herself  with  terror ;  and  here  we  find 
recorded  a  touching  trait  of  Ossoli,  who  soothed 
her  with  encouraging  words,  and  touched  all 
hearts  with  his  fervent  prayer.  In  the  calm  of 
resignation  they  now  sat  conversing  with  each 
other,  devising  last  messages  to  friends,  to  be 
given  by  any  one  of  them  who  might  survive 
the  wreck. 

The  crew  had  retired  to  the  top-gallant  fore 
castle,  and  the  passengers,  hearing  nothing  of 
them,  supposed  them  to  have  left  the  ship.  By 
seven  o'clock  it  became  evident  that  the  cabin 
could  not  hold  together  much  longer,  and  Mrs. 
Hasty,  looking  from  the  door  for  some  way  of 
escape,  saw  a  figure  standing  by  the  foremast, 
the  space  between  being  constantly  swept  by  the 


THE   WRECK,  273 

waves.  She  tried  in  vain  to  make  herself  heard  ; 
but  the  mate,  Davis,  coming  to  the  door  of  the 
forecastle,  saw  her,  and  immediately  ordered  the 
men  to  go  to  her  assistance.  So  great  was 
the  danger  of  doing  this,  that  only  two  of  the 
crew  were  willing  to  accompany  him.  The  only 
refuge  for  the  passengers  was  now  in  the  fore 
castle,  which,  from  its  position  and  strength  of 
construction,  would  be  likely  to  resist  longest 
the  violence  of  the  waves.  By  great  effort  and 
coolness  the  mate  and  his  two  companions 
reached  the  cabin,  and  rescued  all  in  it  from 
the  destruction  so  nearly  impending.  Mrs. 
Hasty  was  the  first  to  make  the  perilous  at 
tempt.  She  was  washed  into  the  hatchway, 
and  besought  the  brave  Davis  to  leave  her  to 
her  fate  ;  but  he,  otherwise  minded,  caught  her 
long  hair  between  his  teeth,  and,  with  true  sea 
man's  craft,  saved  her  and  himself.  Angelo 
was  carried  across  in  a  canvas  bag  hung  to  the 
neck  of  a  sailor.  Reaching  the  forecastle,  they 
found  a  dry  and  sheltered  spot,  and  wrapped 
themselves  in  the  sailors'  loose  jackets,  for  a 
little  warmth  and  comfort.  The  mate  three 
times  revisited  the  cabin,  to  bring  thence  va 
rious  valuables  for  Mrs.  Hasty  and  Margaret ; 
and,  last  of  all,  a  bottle  of  wine  and  some  figs, 
that  these  weary  ones  might  break  their  fast. 
Margaret  now  spoke  to  Mrs.  Hasty  of  some- 
18 


2/4  MARGARET  FULLER. 

thing  still  left  behind,  more  valuable  than  money. 
She  would  not,  however,  ask  the  mate  to  expose 
his  life  again.  It  is  supposed  that  her  words 
had  reference  to  the  manuscript  of  her  work  on 
Italy.  From  their  new  position,  through  the 
spray  and  rain  they  could  see  the  shore,  some 
hundreds  of  yards  off.  Men  were  seen  on  the 
beach,  but  there  was  nothing  to  indicate  that  an 
attempt  would  be  made  to  save  them.  At  nine 
o'clock  it  was  thought  that  some  one  of  the  crew 
might  possibly  reach  the  shore  by  swimming, 
and,  once  there,  make  some  effort  to  send  them 
aid.  Two  of  the  sailors  succeeded  in  doing  this. 
Horace  Sumner  sprang  after  them,  but  sank, 
unable  to  struggle  with  the  waves.  A  last  de 
vice  was  that  of  a  plank,  with  handles  of  rope 
attached,  upon  which  the  passengers  in  turn 
might  seat  themselves,  while  a  sailor,  swimming 
behind,  should  guide  their  course.  Mrs.  Hasty, 
young  and  resolute,  led  the  way  in  this  experi 
ment,  the  stout  mate  helping  her,  and  landing 
her  out  of  the  very  jaws  of  death. 

And  here  we  fall  back  into  that  bootless  wish 
ing  of  which  we  spoke  a  little  while  ago.  Oh 
that  Margaret  had  been  willing  that  the  same 
means  should  be  employed  to  bring  her  and 
hers  to  land !  Again  and  again,  to  the  very  last 
moment,  she  was  urged  to  try  this  way  of  escape, 
uncertain,  but  the  only  one.  It  was  ail  in  vain. 


THE  BREAK-UP.  275 

Margaret  would  not  be  separated  from  her  dear 
ones.  Doubtless  she  continued  for  a  time  to 
hope  that  some  assistance  would  reach  them 
from  the  shore.  The  life-boat  was  even  brought 
to  the  beach  ;  but  no  one  was  willing  to  man 
her,  and  the  delusive  hope  aroused  by  her  ap 
pearance  was  soon  extinguished. 

The  day  wore  on  ;  the  tide  turned.  The  wreck 
would  not  outlast  its  return.  The  commanding 
officer  made  one  last  appeal  to  Margaret  before 
leaving  his  post.  To  stay,  he  told  her,  was  cer 
tain  and  speedy  death,  as  the  ship  must  soon 
break-up.  He  promised  to  take  her  child  with 
him,  and  to  give  Celeste,  Ossoli,  and  herself  each 
the  aid  of  an  able  seaman.  Margaret  still  re 
fused  to  be  parted  from  child  or  husband.  The 
crew  were  then  told  to  "  save  themselves,"  and 
all  but  four  jumped  overboard.  The  commander 
and  several  of  the  seamen  reached  the  shore  in 
safety,  though  not  without  wounds  and  bruises. 

By  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  the  break- 
ing-up  was  well  in  progress.  Cabin  and  stern 
disappeared  beneath  the  waves,  and  the  fore 
castle  filled  with  water.  The  little  group  now 
took  refuge  on  the  deck,  and  stood  about  the 
foremast.  Three  able-bodied  seamen  remained 
with  them,  and  one  old  sailor,  homeward  bound 
for  good  and  all.  The  deck  now  parted  from 
the  hull,  and  rose  and  fell  with  the  sweep  of  the 


2/6  MARGARET  FULLER. 

waves.  The  final  crash  must  come  in  a  few 
minutes.  The  steward  now  took  Angelo  in  his 
arms,  promising  to  save  him  or  die.  At  this 
very  moment  the  foremast  fell,  and  with  it  dis 
appeared  the  deck  and  those  who  stood  on  it. 
The  steward  and  the  child  were  washed  ashore 
soon  after,  dead,  though  not  yet  cold.  The  two 
Italians,  Celeste  and  Ossoli,  held  for  a  moment 
by  the  rigging,  but  were  swept  off  by  the  next 
wave.  Margaret,  last  seen  at  the  foot  of  the 
mast,  in  her  white  nightdress,  with  her  long 
hair  hanging  about  her  shoulders,  is  thought  to 
have  sunk  at  once.  Two  others,  cook  and  car 
penter,  were  able  to  save  themselves*  by  swim 
ming,  and  might,  alas  !  have  saved  her,  had  she 
been  minded  to  make  the  attempt. 

What  strain  of  the  heroic  in  her  mind  over 
came  the  natural  instinct  to  do  and  dare  all 
upon  the  chance  of  saving  her  own  life,  and 
those  so  dear  to  her,  we  shall  never  know. 
No  doubt  the  separation  involved  in  any  such 
attempt  appeared  to  her  an  abandonment  of  her 
husband  and  child.  Resting  in  this  idea,  she 
could  more  easily  nerve  herself  to  perish  with 
them  than  to  part  from  them.  She  and  the 
babe  were  feeble  creatures  to  be  thrown  upon 
the  rnercy  of  the  waves,  even  with  the  promised 
aid.  Her  husband,  young  and  strong,  was  faith 
ful  unto  death,  and  would  not  leave  her.  Both 


THE  END.  277 

of  them,  with  fervent  belief,  regarded  death  as 
the  entrance  to  another  life,  and  surely,  upon  its 
very  threshold,  sought*  to  do  their  best.  So  we 
must  end  our  questioning  and  mourning  con 
cerning  them  with  a  silent  acquiescence  in  what 
was  to  be. 

A  friend  of  Margaret,  who  visited  the  scene 
on  the  day  after  the  catastrophe,  was  persuaded 
that  seven  resolute  men  could  have  saved  every 
soul  on  board  the  vessel.  Through  the  absence 
of  proper  system  and  discipline,  the  life-boat, 
though  applied  for  early  on  the  morning  of  the 
wreck,  did  not  arrive  until  one  o'clock  in  the 
afternoon,  when  the  sea  had  become  so  swollen 
by  the  storm  that  it  was  impossible  to  launch  it. 
One  hopes,  but  scarcely  believes,  that  this  state 
of  things  has  been  amended  before  this  time. 

The  bodies  of  Margaret  and  her  husband  were 
never  found.  That  of  Angelo  was  buried  at 
Fire  Island,  with  much  mourning  on  the  part 
of  the  surviving  sailors,  whose  pet  and  play 
mate  he  had  been.  It  was  afterwards  removed 
to  the  cemetery  at  Mt.  Auburn,  where,  beneath 
a  marble  monument  which  commemorates  the 
life  and  death  of  his  parents,  and  his  own,  he 
alone  lies  buried,  the  only  one  of  Margaret's 
treasures  that  ever  reached  the  country  of  her 
birth. 


278  MARGARET  FULLER. 

Death  gives  an  unexpected  completeness  to 
the  view  of  individual  character.  The  secret  of 
a  noble  life  is  only  fully  unfolded  when  its  out 
ward  envelope  has  met  the  fate  of  all  things 
perishable.  And  so  the  mournful  tragedy  just 
recounted  set  its  seal  upon  a  career  whose  en 
deavor  and  achievement  the  world  is  bound  to 
hold  dear.  When  all  that  could  be  known  of 
Margaret  was  known,  it  became  evident  that 
there  was  nothing  of  her  which  was  not  heroic 
in  intention ;  nothing  which,  truly  interpreted, 
could  turn  attention  from  a  brilliant  exterior  to 
meaner  traits  allowed  and  concealed.  That  she 
had  faults  we  need  not  deny ;  nor  that,  like 
other  human  beings,  she  needs  must  have  said 
and  done  at  times  what  she  might  afterwards 
have  wished  to  have  better  said,  better  done. 
But  as  an  example  of  one  who,  gifted  with  great 
powers,  aspired  only  to  their  noblest  use  ;  who, 
able  to  rule,  sought  rather  to  counsel  and  to 
help,  —  she  deserves  a  place  in  the  highest  niche 
of  her  country's  affection.  As  a  woman  who 
believed  in  women,  her  word  is  still  an  evangel 
of  hope  and  inspiration  to  her  sex.  Her  heart 
belonged  to  all  of  God's  creatures,  and  most  to 
what  is  noblest  in  them.  Gray-headed  men  of 
to-day,  the  happy  companions  of  her  youth,  grow 
young  again  while  they  speak  of  her.  One  of 
these,1  who  is  also  one  of  her  earlier  biographers, 

1  James  Freeman  Clarke. 


HONOR   DUE   TO   HER   MEMORY.       279 

still  recalls  her  as  the  greatest  soul  he  ever  knew. 
Such  a  word,  spoken  with  the  weight  of  ripe 
wisdom  and  long  experience,  may  fitly  indicate 
to  posterity  the  honor  and  reverence  which  be 
long  to  the  memory  of  MARGARET  FULLER. 


CHAPTER   XVII. 

MARGARET    FULLER'S   LITERARY    REMAINS. 

THE  preceding  narrative  has  necessarily  in 
volved  some  consideration  of  the  writings  which 
gave  its  subject  her  place  among  the  authors  of 
her  time.  This  consideration  has  been  carefully 
interwoven  with  the  story  of  the  life  which  it 
was  intended  to  illustrate,  not  to  interrupt. 
With  all  this  care,  however,  much  has  been 
left  unsaid  which  should  be  said  concerning 
the  value  of  Margaret's  contributions  to  the 
critical  literature  of  her  time.  Of  this,  our  pres 
ent  limits  will  allow  us  to  make  brief  mention 
only. 

Margaret  so  lived  in  the  life  of  her  own  day 
and  generation,  so  keenly  felt  its  good  and  ill, 
that  many  remember  her  as  a  woman  whose 
spoken  word  and  presence  had  in  them  a  power 
which  is  but  faintly  imaged  in  her  writings. 
Nor  is  this  impression  wholly  a  mistaken  one- 
Certain  it  is  that  those  who  recall  the  enchant 
ment  of  her  conversation  always  maintain  that 
the  same  charm  is  not  to  be  found  in  the  pro 
ductions  of  her  pen.  Yet  if  we  attentively  read 


DEFECT  OF  STYLE.  28 1 

what  she  has  left  us,  without  this  disparagement, 
we  shall  find  that  it  entitles  her  to  a  position  of 
honor  among  the  prose  writers  of  her  time. 

The  defects  of  her  style  are  easily  seen.  They 
are  in  some  degree  the  result  of  her  assiduous 
study  of  foreign  languages,  in  which  the  pure 
and  severe  idioms  of  the  English  tongue  were 
sometimes  lost  sight  of.  Among  them  may  be 
mentioned  a  want  of  measure  in  expression,  and 
also  something  akin  to  the  fault  which  is  called 
on  the  stage  "  anti-climax,"  by  which  some  say 
ing  of  weight  and  significance  loses  its  point  by 
being  followed  by  another  of  equal  emphasis. 
With  all  this,  the  high  quality  of  her  mind  has 
left  its  stamp  upon  all  that  she  gave  to  the  read 
ing  public.  Much  of  this  first  appeared  in  the 
form  of  contributions  to  the  "  Tribune,"  the"  Dial/' 
and  other  journals  and  magazines.  Some  of  these 
papers  are  brief  and  even  fragmentary ;  but  the 
shortest  of  them  show  careful  study  and  consci 
entious  judgment.  All  of  them  are  valuable  for 
the  admirable  view  which  they  present  of  the 
time  in  which  Margaret  wrote,  of  its  difficulties 
and  limitations,  and  of  the  hopes  and  convictions 
which,  cherished  then  in  the  hearts  of  the  few, 
were  destined  to  make  themselves  a  law  to  the 
conscience  of  the  whole  community. 

The  most  important  of  the  more  elaborate 
essays  is  undoubtedly  that  entitled  "  Woman  in 


282  MARGARET  FULLER. 

the  Nineteenth  Century,"  of  which  some  account 
has  already  been  given  in  the  preceding  pages. 
Of  the  four  volumes  published  in  1875,  one  bears 
this  title.  A  second,  entitled  "  Art,  Literature, 
and  the  Drama,"  contains  many  of  the  papers 
to  which  reference  has  been  made  in  our  brief 
account  of  Margaret  and  her  contemporaries. 
From  a  third  volume,  entitled  "  Abroad  and  at 
Home,"  we  have  quoted  some  of  her  most  inter 
esting  statements  concerning  the  liberal  move 
ment  in  Europe,  of  which  she  was  so  ardent  a 
friend  and  promoter.  A  last  volume  was  collected 
and  published  in  1859,  by  her  brother,  the  Rev. 
Arthur  B.  Fuller,  who  served  as  an  army  chaplain 
in  the  War  of  the  Southern  Rebellion,  and  met 
his  death  on  one  of  its  battle-fields.  This  vol- 
^V'  ume  is  called  "  Life  Without  and  Life  Within," 
and  is  spoken  of  in  Mr.  Fuller's  preface  as  con 
taining,  for  the  most  part,  matter  never  before 
given  to  the  world  in  book  form,  and  also  poems 
and  prose  fragments  never  before  published. 

In  this  volume,  two  papers  seem  to  us  to  ask 
for  especial  mention.  One  of  these  is  a  review 
of  Carlyle's  "  Cromwell,"  written  when  the  book 
was  fresh  before  the  public.  It  deserves  to  be 
read  for  its  felicity  of  diction,  as  well  as  for  the 
I  justice  of  the  thought  expressed.  If  we  take 
into  consideration  the  immense  popularity  of 
Mr.  Carlyle  in  America  at  the  time  when  this 


CRITICISM   OF  CARLYLE.  283 

work  of  his  appeared,  we  shall  prize  the  courage 
and  firmness  with  which  Margaret  applies  to  it 
her  keen  power  of  criticism.  The  moral  insuffi 
ciency  of  the  doctrine  of  the  divine  right  of 
force  is  clearly  shown  by  her ;  and  her  own  view 
of  Cromwell's  character  maintains  itself  in  spite 
of  the  vituperations  with  which  Carlyle  visits 
those  who  will  not  judge  his  hero  as  he  does. 
She  even  returns  these  threats  with  the  follow 
ing  humorous  passage  at  arms  :  — 

"  Nobody  ever  doubted  his  [Cromwell's]  great 
abilities  and  force  of  will ;  neither  doubt  we  that 
he  was  made  an  instrument,  just  as  he  propo- 
seth.  But  as  to  looking  on  him  through  Mr. 
Carlyle's  glasses,  we  shall  not  be  sneered  or 
stormed  into  it,  unless  he  has  other  proof  to  offer 
than  is  shown  yet.  ...  If  he  has  become  inter 
ested  in  Oliver,  or  any  other  pet  hyena,  by  study 
ing  his  habits,  is  that  any  reason  why  we  should 
admit  him  to  our  pantheon  ?  No  !  our  imbecility 
shall  keep  fast  the  door  against  anything  short 
of  proofs  that  in  the  hyena  a  god  is  incarnated. 
.  .  .  We  know  you  do  with  all  your  soul  love 
kings  and  heroes,  Mr.  Carlyle,  but  we  are  not 
sure  you  would  always  know  the  Sauls  from  the 
Davids.  We  fear,  if  you  had  the  disposal  of 
the  holy  oil,  you  would  be  tempted  to  pour  it 
on  the  head  of  him  who  is  taller  by  a  head  than 
all  his  brethren." 


284  MARGARET  FULLER. 

Of  Cromwell  himself,  the  following  is  Marga 
ret's  estimate :  — 

"  We  see  a  man  of  strong  and  wise  mind,  edu 
cated  by  the  pressure  of  great  occasions  to  the 
station  of  command.  We  see  him  wearing  the 
religious  garb  which  was  the  custom  of  the  times, 
and  even  preaching  to  himself  as  well  as  others. 
But  we  never  see  Heaven  answering  his  invoca 
tions  in  any  way  that  can  interfere  with  the  rise 
of  his  fortunes  or  the  accomplishment  of  his 
plans.  To  ourselves,  the  tone  of  these  religious 
holdings-forth  is  sufficiently  expressive  :  they  all 
ring  hollow.  .  .  .  Again,  we  see  Cromwell  ruling 
with  a  strong  arm,  and  carrying  the  spirit  of  mon 
archy  to  an  excess  which  no  Stuart  could  surpass. 
Cromwell,  indeed,  is  wise,  and  the  king  he  pun 
ished  with  death  is  foolish :  Charles  is  faithless 
and  Cromwell  crafty  ;  we  see  no  other  difference. 
Cromwell  does  not  in  power  abide  by  the  princi 
ples  that  led  him  to  it ;  and  we  cannot  help,  so 
rose-water  imbecile  are  we,  admiring  those  who 
do.  To  us  it  looks  black  for  one  who  kills  kings 
to  grow  to  be  more  kingly  than  a  king." 

The  other  paper  of  which  we  desire  to  speak 
in  this  connection,  is  one  treating  of  the  French 
novelists  prominent  at  the  time,  and  in  particu 
lar  of  Balzac,  Eugene  Sue,  and  De  Vigny.  Of 
these  three  names,  the  first  alone  retains  the 
prestige  which  it  had  when  Margaret  wrote  her 


ESSAY  ON  FRENCH  NOVELISTS.      285 

essay.  De  Vigny,  remarkable  mostly  for  purity 
of  sentiment,  finish  of  style,  and  a  power  of  set 
ting  and  limiting  his  pictures,  is  a  boudoir  author, 
and  one  read  only  in  boudoirs  of  studious  refine 
ment.  Sue,  to  whose  motives  Margaret  gives 
the  most  humanitarian  interpretation,  has  failed 
to  commend  his  method  to  posterity.  His  au 
topsy  of  a  diseased  state  of  society  is  thought  to 
spread  too  widely  the  infection  of  the  evils  which 
he  deplores.  His  intention  is  also  too  humane  for 
the  present  day.  The  world  of  the  last  decade 
and  of  the  present  is  too  deeply  wedded  to  the 
hard  worship  of  money  to  be  touched  by  the 
pathos  of  women  who  perish,  or  of  men  who 
starve.  The  grievances  of  the  poor  against  the 
rich  find  to-day  no  one  to  give  ear  to  them,  and 
few  even  to  utter  them  ;  since  those  who  escape 
starvation  are  too  busy  with  beggary  and  plun 
der  to  waste  time  in  such  useless  musings.  Of 
the  three  here  cited,  Balzac  alone  remains  a  king 
among  novelists  ;  and  Margaret's  study  of  him 
imports  as  much  to  us  to-day  as  it  did  to  the 
world  of  her  time. 

She  begins  by  commenting  upon  the  lamenta 
tion  general  at  that  time,  and  not  uncommon  in 
this,  over  the  depravity  of  taste  and  of  life  al 
ready  becoming  familiar  to  the  youth  of  America 
through  the  medium  of  the  French  novel.  Con 
cerning  this,  she  says  :  — 


286  MARGARET  FULLER. 

"  It  is  useless  to  bewail  what  is  the  inevitable 
result  of  the  movement  of  our  time.  Europe 
must  pour  her  corruptions  no  less  than  her 
riches  on  our  shores,  both  in  the  form  of  books 
and  of  living  men.  She  cannot,  if  she  would, 
check  the  tide  which  bears  them  hitherward. 
No  defences  are  possible,  on  our  vast  extent  of 
shore,  that  can  preclude  their  ingress.  Our 
only  hope  lies  in  rousing  in  our  own  community 
a  soul  of  goodness,  a  wise  aspiration,  that  shall 
give  us  strength  to  assimilate  this  unwholesome 
food  to  better  substance,  or  to  cast  off  its  con 
taminations." 

In  view  of  the  translation  and  republication  of 
these  works,  Margaret  remarks  that  it  would  be 
desirable  for  our  people  to  know  something  of 
the  position  which  the  writers  occupy  in  their 
own  country.  She  says,  moreover,  what  we 
would  fain  hope  may  be  true  to-day,  that  "  our 
imitation  of  Europe  does  not  yet  go  so  far  that 
the  American  milliner  can  be  depended  on  to 
copy  anything  from  the  Parisian  grisette,  except 
her  cap." 

Margaret  speaks  at  some  length  of  Balzac's 
novel  "  Le  Pere  Goriot,"  which  she  had  just 
read.  "  The  author,"  she  says,  "  reminds  one  of 
the  Spanish  romancers  in  the  fearlessness  with 
which  he  takes  mud  into  his  hands,  and  dips  his 
foot  in  slime.  We  cannot  endure  this  when 


BALZAC'S  "PERE   GORIOT."  287 

done,  as  by  most  Frenchmen,  with  an  air  of 
recklessness  and  gayety  ;  but  Balzac  does  it  with 
the  stern  manliness  of  a  Spaniard." 

The  conception  of  this  novel  appears  to  her 
"  so  sublime,"  that  she  compares  its  perusal  to  a 
walk  through  the  catacombs,  which  the  reader 
would  not  willingly  have  missed  ;  "  though  the 
light  of  day  seems  stained  afterwards  with  the 
mould  of  horror  and  dismay." 

She  infers  from  much  of  its  tenor  that  Balzac 
was  "  familiar  with  that  which  makes  the  agony  of 
poverty  —  its  vulgarity.  Dirt,  confusion,  shabby 
expedients,  living  to  live,  —  these  are  what  make 
poverty  terrible  and  odious  ;  and  in  these  Balzac 
would  seem  to  have  been  steeped  to  the  very 
lips."  The  skill  with  which  he  illustrates  both 
the  connection  and  the  contrast  between  the 
depth  of  poverty  and  the  height  of  luxury  co 
existing  in  Parisian  life,  is  much  dwelt  upon 
by  Margaret,  as  well  as  the  praise-worthy  fact 
that  he  depicts  with  equal  faithfulness  the  vices 
developed  by  these  opposite  conditions.  His 
insight  and  mastery  appear  to  her  "  admirable 
throughout,"  the  characters  "  excellently  drawn," 
especially  that  of  the  Pere  Goriot,  the  father  of 
two  heartless  women,  for  whom  he  has  sacrificed 
everything,  and  who  in  turn  sacrifice  him  with 
out  mercy  to  their  own  pleasures  and  ambitions. 
Admirable,  too,  she  finds  him  "  in  his  description 


288  MARGARET  FULLER. 

of  look,  tone,  gesture.  He  has  a  keen  sense  of 
whatever  is  peculiar  to  the  individual."  With 
this  acute  appreciation  of  the  great  novelist's 
merits,  Margaret  unites  an  equally  comprehen 
sive  perception  of  his  fatal  defects  of  character. 
His  scepticism  regarding  virtue  she  calls  fearful, 
his  spirit  Mephistophelian.  "  He  delights  to 
analyze,  to  classify.  But  he  has  no  hatred  for 
what  is  loathsome,  no  contempt  for  what  is  base, 
no  love  for  what  is  lovely,  no  faith  for  what  is 
noble.  To  him  there  is  no  virtue  and  no  vice ; 
men  and  women  are  more  or  less  finely  organ 
ized  ;  noble  and  tender  conduct  is  more  agreeable 
than  the  reverse,  —  that  is  all."  His  novels  show 
"  goodness,  aspiration,  the  loveliest  instincts, 
stifled,  strangled  by  fate  in  the  form  of  our  own 
brute  nature." 

Margaret  did  not,  perhaps,  foresee  how  popu 
lar  strangling  of  this  kind  was  destined  to  be 
come  in  the  romance  of  the  period  following  her 
own. 

Contrasting  Eugene  Sue  with  Balzac,  she  finds 
in  the  first  an  equal  power  of  observation,  dis 
turbed  by  a  more  variable  temperament,  and  en 
hanced  by  "  the  heart  and  faith  that  Balzac  lacks." 
She  sees  him  standing,  pen  in  hand,  armed  with 
this  slight  but  keen  weapon,  as  "  the  champion  of 
poverty,  innocence,  and  humanity  against  super 
stition,  selfishness,  and  prejudice."  His  works, 


SUE  AND  BALZAC.  289 

she  thinks,  with  "all  their  strong  points  and 
brilliant  decorations,  may  erelong  be  forgotten. 
Still,  the  writer's  name  shall  be  held  in  im 
perishable  honor  as  the  teacher  of  the  ignorant, 
the  guardian  of  the  weak."  She  sums  up  thus 
the  merits  of  the  two  :  "  Balzac  is  the  heartless 
surgeon,  probing  the  wounds  and  describing  the 
delirium  of  suffering  men  for  the  amusement  of 
his  students.  Sue,  a  bold  and  glittering  cru 
sader,  with  endless  ballads  jingling  in  the  silence 
of  night  before  the  battle."  She  finds  both  of 
them  "  much  right  and  a  good  deal  wrong,"  since 
their  most  virtuous  personages  are  allowed  to 
practise  stratagems,  falsehood,  and  violence,  —  a 
taint,  she  thinks,  of  the  old  regime  under  which 
"  La  belle  France  has  worn  rouge  so  long  that 
the  purest  mountain  air  will  not  soon  restore  the 
natural  hues  to  her  complexion." 

Two  ideal  sketches,  "The  Rich  Man"  and 
"  The  Poor  Man,"  are  also  preserved  in  this  vol 
ume,  and  are  noticeable  as  treating  of  differences 
and  difficulties  which  have  rather  become  aggra 
vated  than  diminished  since  Margaret's  time. 
The  "  Rich  Man  "  is  a  merchant,  who  "  sees  in 
commerce  a  representation  of  most  important  in 
terests,  a  grand  school  that  may  teach  the  heart 
and  soul  of  the  civilized  world  to  a  willing,  think 
ing  mind.  He  plays  his  part  in  the  game,  but 
not  for  himself  alone.  He  sees  the  interests  of 
19 


2QO  MARGARET  FULLER. 

all  mankind  engaged  with  his,  and  remembers 
them  while  he  furthers  his  own."  In  regard  of 
his  social  status,  she  says  :  — 

"  Our  nation  is  not  silly  in  striving  for  an  aris 
tocracy.  Humanity  longs  for  its  upper  classes. 
The  silliness  consists  in  making  them  out  of 
clothes,  equipage,  and  a  servile  imitation  of  for 
eign  manners,  instead  of  the  genuine  elegance 
and  distinction  that  can  only  be  produced  by 
genuine  culture.  .  .  .  Our  merchant  shall  be  a 
real  nobleman,  whose  noble  manners  spring  from 
a  noble  mind  ;  his  fashions  from  a  sincere,  intel 
ligent  love  of  the  beautiful." 

"  Margaret's  '  Poor  Man '  is  an  industrious 
artisan,  not  too  poor  to  be  sure  of  daily  bread, 
cleanliness,  and  reasonable  comfort.  His  ad 
vantages  will  be  in  the  harder  training  and 
deeper  experience  which  his  circumstances  will 
involve.  Suffering  privation  in  his  own  per 
son,  he  will,  she  thinks,  feel  for  the  sufferings  of 
others.  Having  no  adventitious  aids  to  bring 
him  into  prominence,  there  will  be  small  chance 
for  him  "  to  escape  a  well-tempered  modesty." 
He  must  learn  enough  to  convince  himself  that 
mental  growth  and  refinement  are  not  secured 
by  one  set  of  employments,  or  lost  through  an 
other.  "  Mahomet  was  not  a  wealthy  merchant ; 
profound  philosophers  have  ripened  on  the 
benches,  not  of  the  lawyers,  but  of  the  shoe- 


IDEAL   POOR  MAN.  291 

makers.  It  did  not  hurt  Milton  to  be  a  school 
master,  nor  Shakespeare  to  do  the  errands  of  a 
London  playhouse.  Yes,  '  the  mind  is  its  own 
place;'  and  if  it  will  keep  that  place,  all  doors 
will  be  opened  from  it."  This  ideal  poor  man 
must  be  "  religious,  wise,  dignified,  and  humble, 
grasping  at  nothing,  claiming  all  ;  willing  to  wait, 
never  willing  to  give  up;  servile  to  none,  the 
servant  of  all,  —  esteeming  it  the  glory  of  a  man 
to  serve."  Such  a  type  of  character,  she  tells 
us,  is  rare,  but  not  unattainable. 

The  poems  in  this  volume  may  be  termed  fugi 
tive  pieces,  rhymes  twined  and  dropped  in  the 
pathway  of  a  life  too  busy  for  much  versification. 
They  somewhat  recall  Mr.  Emerson's  manner, 
but  have  not  the  point  and  felicity  which  have 
made  him  scarcely  less  eminent  in  verse  than  in 
prose.  They  will,  however,  well  repay  a  perusal. 
In  order  that  this  volume  may  not  be  wholly 
lacking  in  their  grace,  we  subjoin  two  short 
poems,  which  we  have  chosen  from  among  a 
number  of  perhaps  equal  interest.  One  of  these 
apostrophizes  an  artist  whose  rendering  of  her 
Greeks  made  him  dear  to  her :  — 

FLAXMAN. 

We  deemed  the  secret  lost,  the  spirit  gone, 
Which  spake  in  Greek  simplicity  of  thought, 
And  in  the  forms  of  gods  and  heroes  wrought 
Eternal  beauty  from  the  sculptured  stone,  — 


292  MARGARET  FULLER. 

A  higher  charm  than  modern  culture  won 

With  all  the  wealth  of  metaphysic  lore, 

Gifted  to  analyze,  dissect,  explore. 

A  many-colored  light  flows  from  one  sun ; 

Art,  'neath  its  beams,  a  motley  thread  has  spun  ; 

The  prism  modifies  the  perfect  day  ; 

But  thou  hast  known  such  mediums  to  shun, 

And  cast  once  more  on  life  a  pure,  white  ray. 

Absorbed  in  the  creations  of  thy  mind, 

Forgetting  daily  self,  my  truest  self  I  find. 

The  other  poem  interprets  for  us  the  signifi 
cance  of  one  of  the  few  jewels  which  queenly 
Margaret  deigned  to  wear,  —  a  signet  ring,  bear 
ing  the  image  of  Mercury  :  — 

MY   SEAL-RING. 

Mercury  has  cast  aside 

The  signs  of  intellectual  pride, 

Freely  offers  thee  the  soul : 

Art  thou  noble  to  receive  ? 

Canst  thou  give  or  take  the  whole, 

Nobly  promise,  and  believe  ? 

Then  thou  wholly  human  art, 

A  spotless,  radiant  ruby  heart, 

And  the  golden  chain  of  love 

Has  bound  thee  to  the  realm  above. 

If  there  be  one  small,  mean  doubt, 

One  serpent  thought  that  fled  not  out, 

Take  instead  the  serpent-rod,  — 

Thou  art  neither  man  nor  God. 

Guard  thee  from  the  powers  of  evil,  — 

Who  cannot  trust,  vows  to  the  devil. 

Walk  thy  slow  and  spell-bound  way  ; 

Keep  on  thy  mask,  or  shun  the  day,  — 

Let  go  my  hand  upon  the  way. 


INDEX. 


ALCOTT,  A.  BRONSON,  his  impres 
sions  of  Margaret  Fuller,  61,  62  ; 
a  contributor  to  the  '*  Dial,"  72. 

Allston,  Washington,  as  a  poet  and 
painter,  77 ;  Margaret  Fuller's 
criticism  of  his  paintings,  79-82. 

Arago,  Margaret's  estimate  of,  196. 

Arconati,  Marchesa  Visconti,  Mar 
garet  Fuller's  acquaintance  and 
friendship  with,  212,  252,  261. 

BAILLIE,  JOANNA,  Margaret  Ful 
ler's  admiration  of,  and  visit  to, 
180,  181. 

Balzac,  Margaret  Fuller's  estimate 
of  the  works  of,  285-289. 

Belgiojoso,  Princess,  organizes  the 
military  hospitals  at  Rome,  24-5. 

Ben  Lomond,  Margaret  Fuller's 
ascent  of,  and  adventure  on,  175- 

i/7- 
Beranger,  189;   Margaret  Fuller's 

mention  of,  196. 
Berry,    Miss,    Margaret    Fuller's 

visit  to,  181. 

Berryer,  M.,  Margaret  Fuller's  es 
timate  of,  197. 
Brook  Farm  Community,  the,  its 

origin  and  existence,  91,  97. 
Brougham,  Lord,  179. 
Browning,  Elizabeth  Barrett,  188, 

217,  261. 
Bryant,  William  Cullen,  Margaret 

Fuller's  estimate  of,  164. 
Burgess,  Tristam,  66. 

CARLYLE,  THOMAS,  179;  Marga 
ret  Fuller's  intercourse  with,  and 
impressions  of,  181-185  »  ms 
impressions  of  Margaret  Fuller, 


1 86  ;    Margaret   Fuller's   review 

of  his  "Cromwell,"  282-284. 
Cass,  Lewis,  American  Envoy  at 

Rome,  249. 
Chalmers,  Dr.,  172. 
Channing,  Dr.,   Margaret  Fuller's 

high  appreciation  of,  30  ;  his  in 
tercourse  with  Margaret  F'uller, 

6j- 

Channing,  William  Ellery,  72. 
Channing,     William    Henry,    72  ; 

his  portrait  of  Margaret  Fuller. 

86-90. 
Chopin,    189;    Margaret    Fuller's 

mention  of,  193. 
Clarke,     James     Freeman,     early 

friendship     of,    with     Margaret 

Fuller,  23,  24. 
Clarke,  William  Hull,  his  intimacy 

with    Margaret    Fuller    at    the 

Lakes,  118. 

Combe,  Dr.  Andrew,  172. 
Cranch,  Christopher  P.,  72. 

DANA,  RICHARD  H.,  mention  of, 
by  Margaret  Fuller,  67. 

Dawson,  George,  177. 

De  Balzac,  189. 

De  Quincey,  Margaret  Fuller's  de 
scription  of.  173. 

De  Vigny,  284. 

"  Dial,"  the,  its  life  and  death,  71, 
72 ;  its  contributors  and  their 
contributions.  72-76. 

Dickens,  Charles,  178. 

Dumas,  Alexandre  (pere},  189. 

EMERSON,  RALPH  WALDO,  his  ac 
quaintance  with  Margaret  Fuller, 
40 ;  his  first  impressions  of  her, 


294 


INDEX. 


40,  41 ;  his  high  appreciation  of 
her  social   pre-eminence,  42  ;    a 
contributor  to  the  "  Dial,"   72  ;  j 
his  estimation  of  Margaret  Fuller 
as  an  art  critic,  83. 

Fox,  WILLIAM,  Margaret  Fuller's 

estimate  of,  178. 
Freiligrath,  180. 
Fuller,    Margaret   Crane,   Mother 

of  Margaret,   2  ;    some   account 

Of,   2,  3. 

Fuller,  Sarah  Margaret,  early  bio 
graphical    sketches    of,    i  ;    her 
childhood  and  early  youth,  i-io  ; 
birth   and  birthplace  of,  2  ;  her 
early  Puritanical  training,  4  ;  her 
early   course  of  studies  and  its 
effect,  5-7  ;  begins  the  study  of 
the  Latin  authors,  7  ;  her  inter 
est  in  the  study  of  Shakespeare, 
8  ;  her  earliest  friendship,  o-io  ; 
leaves  home  for  boarding-school,  j 
ii  ;  anecdotes  of  her  school  life 
at  Groton,  Mass.,  11-16;  bene-  i 
ficial  effect  of  her  school  life  and  j 
its  trials,  1 7  ;  end  of  her  school  < 
days,  and  her  return  home,  18  ; 
her  girlhood  as  described  by  Dr. 
Hedge,    19,  20  ;   her  passionate  : 
love  for  the  beautiful,  20 ;    her  i 
systematic  and  arduous  pursuit  | 
of  culture,  20,   21  ;  her  portrai 
ture   of    Miss    Francis     (Lydia 
Maria  Child),  22 ;  her  friendship  ! 
with    James    Freeman    Clarke,  | 
24-28  ;   her   magnetic   influence  ! 
upon    the  minds  of  others,    25,  j 
26  ;    the  faulty   appreciation  of  i 
her  character  by  the  public,  27, 
38,  39  ;  her  study  and  compara-  { 
tive    estimate    of    the    German  [ 
authors,  28  ;  her  intense  interest 
in  self-culture  and  questions  of  | 
public  thought,   29,  30  ;  her  de-  I 
sire  for  intellectual  improvement  \ 
the  outgrowth  of  personal  rather  i 
than  religious  motives,  30,  31  ;  , 
her  religious  beliefs,  32-38  ;  an 
ecdote  relating  her  many  doubts 
and  trials  in  the  matter  of  re-  j 
ligion,  35-38  ;  her  first  acquaint-  ' 


ance  with  Ralph  Waldo  Emer 
son,  40 ;  satirical  proclivities  of, 
as  mentioned  by  Mr.  Emerson, 
41  ;  her  beneficent  influence  upon 
friends  and  intimates,  42,  43  ; 
an  enthusiastic  and  appreciative 
student  of  art,  44-47  ;  notes  en 
the  Athenaeum  Gallery  cf  Sculp 
ture  by,  45  ;  self-esteem  one  of 
her  most  prominent  and  valuable 
qualities,  47-49 ;  removal  from 
Cambridge  to  Groton,  49 ;  the 
literary  activity  of,  in  the  seclu 
sion  of  her  Groton  home,  50,  59 ; 
extract  from  her  correspondence 
while  at  Groton,  51-54;  her 
meeting  with,  and  sincere  friend 
ship  for,  Harriet  Martineau,  54, 

55  ;  her  very  serious  illness,  55, 

56  ;  her  grief  at  the  death  of  her 
father,   56  ;    the   straitened   cir 
cumstances  of,  attendant  on  her 
father's    death,     56,    57;     finds 
prayer  a  constant  source  of  relief 
and  support,    57;    her  devoticn 
to    her    family,    57-59;   her    re 
moval    to    Bost  n,    60,    6 1  ;    a 
teacher  in  Mr.   Alcott's  school, 
61 ;  brief  sketch  of  her  labors  while 
in    Boston,    62-65  ;    her  connec 
tion  with  Greene  Street  School, 
Providence,  R.  I.,  65  ;  brief  ac 
count  of   her  life  and  acquaint 
ances  in  Providence,  66,  67  ;  ex 
tract  from  her  farewell  address  to 
her  pupils  at  Providence,  68,  69  ; 
her  criticism    of  Harriet  Marti 
neau 's  book  on  America,  69,  70  ; 
accepts    the    editorship    of   the 
"Dial,"    70;    extract   from   her 
contributions  to  the  "  Dial,"  74- 
77  ;  her  estimate  of  Washington 
Allston's  pictures,  76,  79-83;  her 
friendship   with    Mr.     Emerson 
the  outgrowth  of  mutual  esteem 
rather  than  of  personal  sympa 
thy,  84,  85  ;  her  relations  with 
William    Henry  Channing,   86- 
90  ;  her  relation  to  the  Transcen 
dental  movement  in  New  Eng 
land,   92-99  ;    her    visit  to   the 
Brook    Farm    Community,  97, 


INDEX. 


295 


98;  her  love  for  little  children, 
100 ;  her  visit  to  Concord  after 
the  death  of  Ralph  Waldo  Em 
erson's  son,  TOI  ;  extracts  from 
her  journal,  101-103;  her  con 
versations  in  Boston,  104-115; 
the  extraordinary  success  of  her 
undertaking,  108 ;  the  second 
series  of  her  conversations,  in, 
114;  variety  of  topics  discussed 
in  her  conversations,  114;  her 
summer  on  the  Lakes,  115  ;  ex 
tracts  from  her  record  of  the 
journey,  115-125  ;  her  visit  to, 
and  impressions  of,  the  Indians,. 
120-125  ;  the  composition  of  her. 
v'  "  Summer  on  the  Lakes,"  126, 
127;  her  engagement  on  the 
"  New  York  Tribune,"  and  con 
sequent  close  of  her  New  Eng 
land  life,  127 ;  her  intercourse 
with  Horace  Greeley,  130,  131  ; 
her  contributions  to  the  "  Trib 
une,"  133  ;  remarks  on  some  of 
her  literary  contemporaries,  134, 
135 ;  her  criticism  of  George 
Sand,  137-139  ;  her  residence  at 
the  Gre^ley  mansion,  130,  140, 
141  ;  her  entrance  into  New  York 
society,  142;  her  visits  to  the 
women's  prison  at  Sing  Sing, 
and  address  to  its  inmates,  143- 
146 ;  visits  Blackwell's  Island, 
146 ;  letters  of,  to  her  brothers, 
147-150;  publication  of  her 
"  Woman  in  the  Nineteenth 
Century,"  147,  149,  150;  brief 
review  of  the  work,  151-158; 
essay  on  American  Literature, 
159-167,  282;  her  criticism  of 
contemporary  authors,  162-167; 
concerning  the  justice  of  her 
criticism,  168,  169 ;  her  visit 
to  Europe,  170-277  ;  her  an 
ticipations  of  the  journey,  170, 
171  ;  the  voyage  and  arrival  at 
Liverpool,  171 ;  her  visit  to  the 
lake  country,  171,  172;  impres 
sions  of  her  visi :  to  Wordsworth, 
172;  renewal  of  her  intercourse 
with  Harriet  Martineau,  172; 
her  visit  to  Edinburgh  and  meet 


ing  with  literary  men,  172,  173; 
her  impression  of  De  Quincey, 
173  ;  her  meditations  on  Mary, 
Queen  of  Scots,  while  in  Scot 
land,  1 74 ;  makes  an  excursion 
to  the  Highlands,  174;  her  as 
cent  to  Ben  Lomond,  175-177; 
her  comparison  of  George  Daw- 
son,  William  Fox,  and  James 
Martineau  with  Dr.  Channing 
and  Theodore  Parker,  177;  her 
remarks  on  the  social  condition 
of  England,  179,  180;  visits  the 
different  institutions  of  science, 
art,  and  benevolence  in  London, 
1 80 ;  mention  of  her  visit  to 
Joanna  Baillie,  180,  iSi  ;  her 
visit  to  Miss  Berry,  181  ;  her 
intercourse  with  Thomas  Car- 
lyle,  180-185  :  Thomas  Carlyle's 
impressions  of,  186  ;  her  high 
estimation  of  Mazzini  and  his 
work,  186-188  ;  her  visit  to  P.  ris 
and  her  reception  there,  189, 
190  ;  h.T  visit  to  and  impressions 
of  George  Sand,  191-193 ;  her 
acquaintance  with  Chopin,  193  ; 
her  remarks  on  the  French  stage 
and  its  actors,  I9J-I96;  calls 
upon  Lamennais,  196;  her  men 
tion  of  Beranger,  196  ;  visits  the 
Chamber  of  Deputies,  197  ;  at 
tends  a  ball  at  the  Tuileries,  and 
the  Italian  opera  in  Paris,  197, 
198  ;  her  acquaintance  with  Al- 
exandre  Vattemare,  198 ;  her 
visits  to  places  of  interest  in 
Paris,  and  her  impressions  of 
them,  198,  199  ;  her  journey  to 
Italy,  200,  201  ;  visits  Rome, 
2:2;  her  visits  to  the  studios 
and  galleries  of  Rome,  206 ;  her 
study  of  and  remarks  upon  the 
old  masters,  206,  207  ;  her  inter 
est  in  the  political  condition  of 
Italy,  207  ;  impressions  and  rem 
iniscences  of  her  visits  to  Peru 
gia,  Bologna,  Florence,  Ravenna, 
Venice,  Milan,  and  other  cities 
of  Northern  Italy,  208-212  ;  her 
mention  of  a  state  ball  on  the 
Grand  Canal  at  Venice,  210; 


296 


INDEX. 


her  estimation  of  Manzoni,  211 ; 
visits  the  Italian  lakes  and 
Switzerland,  212  ;  her  grief  and 
indignation  at  the  unhappy  po 
litical  condition  in  Italy,  213, 
214;  visits  Pavia,  Parma,  and 
Modena,  214;  revisits  Florence 
on  her  way  to  Rome,  214;  her 
zeal  f&r  Italian  freedom,  217; 
her  return  to  Rome,  218  ;  remi 
niscences  of  her  delightful  experi 
ences  during  her  second  visit  to 
Rome,  218-220;  her  many  dis 
comforts  during  the  rainy  sea 
son,  221-223 ;  leaves  Rome  for 
Aquila,  231 ;  her  marriage  with 
Marchese  Ossoli,  232  ;  her  first 
meeting  and  subsequent  inti 
macy  with  him,  233,  234  ;  leaves 
Aquila  for  Rieti,  235  ;  birth  of 
her  son,  Angelo  Eugene  OssAli, 
236;  leaves  her  child  at  Rieti 
and  returns  to  Rome,  238;  ex 
tract  from  a  letter  to  her  mother, 
238  ;  her  anxiety  about  her  child, 
241,  242;  her  intercourse  with 
Mazzini,  243 ;  her  care  of  the 
hospitals,  244-246;  her  anxiety 
about  her  husband  and  child 
during  the  siege  of  Rome,  246  ; 
her  mention  of  the  bombardment 
and  final  surrender  of  Rome, 
247,  248 ;  has  a  severe  sickness 
and  confides  the  story  of  her 
marriage  to  Mrs.  Story  and 
Lewis  Cass,  249,  25  ~  :  joins  her 
husband  at  his  post,  250 ;  the 
sickness  of  her  child,  251  ;  com 
ment  in  both  Italy  and  America 
attendant  upon  the  acknowledg 
ment  of  her  marriage,  251,  252  ; 
extracts  from  her  correspond 
ence  regarding  her  marriage, 
252,  253  ;  revisits  Perugia  with 
her  husband  and  child,  253; 
passes  the  winter  in  Florence, 
253;  applies  herself  to  writing 
a  history  of  the  Revolution  in 
Italy,  255  ;  the  character  pt  her 
husband  and  their  devotion  to 
each  other,  256,  257;  her  liter 
ary  occupation  during  her  stay 


at  Florence,  258  ;  reminiscences 
of  her  visit  to  the  Duomo  at 
Florence,  258,  259  ;  her  home 
life  and  surroundings,  259,  260  ; 
her  intimacy  with  Horace  Sum- 
ner  and  estimate  of  him,  260, 
261 ;  anecdotes  showing  her  love 
for  and  influence  upon  the 
people  of  Italy,  262-264;  her 
preparations  for  and  anticipa 
tions  of  her  return  to  America, 
265,  266 ;  extract  from  her  last 
letter  to  her  mother,  266,  267  ; 
engages  passage  in  the  barque 
"Elizabeth"  from  Leghorn,  267  ; 
her  presentiment  and  foreboding 
of  misfortune,  268,  269  ;  death 
of  the  captain  and  subsequent 
sickness  of  her  child,  269,  270  ; 
minor  incidents  of  the  voyage 
as  related  by  Mrs.  Hasty,  270  ; 
her  calmness  and  care  for  her 
child  at  the  time  of  the  ship 
wreck,  272;  her  death,  274; 
brief  testimony  to  her  high  char 
acter  and  aspirations,  278 ;  the 
literary  remains  of,  280-292  ; 
brief  criticism  of  her  style,  281 ; 
"  Woman  in  the  Nineteenth 
Century,"  282;  "Life  Without 
and  Life  Within,"  282;  extracts 
from  her  review  of  Carlyle's 
"  Cromwell,"  282-284  ;  extracts 
from  a  paper  on  the  prominent 
French  novelists  of  her  day, 
284-289 ;  her  appreciation  of  the 
writings  of  Balzac,  286-288  ; 
her  contrast  of  Balzac  with  Eu 
gene  Sue,  288,  289  ;  mention  of 
her  "Rich  Man,"  and  ';  Poor 
Man,"  with  extracts,  289-291  ; 
"  Flax  man "  and  "My  Seal- 
Ring,"  two  short  poems  by, 
291,  292. 

Fuller,  Timothy,  father  of  Marga 
ret,  2  ;  some  account  of,  2  ;  Mar 
garet's  estimation  of,  3 ;  his 
death,  56. 

GARIBALDI,  his  devotion  to  the 
cause  of  freedom  in  Italy,  247, 
248. 


INDEX. 


297 


Gonzaga,  Marquis  Guerrieri,  213. 

Greeley,  Horace,  his  interest  in 
Margaret  Fuller  and  subsequent 
engagement  of  her  on  the  staff 
oflh3  "Tribune,"  129,  130  ;  his 
acquantance  with  and  estima 
tion  of  Margaret  Fuller,  130- 
132. 

Guizot,  189. 

Gurney,  Joseph  John,  67. 

HASTY,  Mrs.,  a  fellow-passenger 
of  Margaret  Fuller  on  the  barque 
"  Elizabeth,"  for  America,  268  ; 
her  account  of  the  voyage  and 
subsequent  loss  of  the  vessel, 
270-274;  her  rescue  from  the 
wreck,  274. 

Hedge,  Dr.,  early  friendship  of, 
with  Margaret  Fuller,  19,  20. 

Houghton,  Lord,  179. 

Hugo,  Victor,  189. 

Hurlbut,  William  Henry,  his  re 
marks  upon  the  character  of 
Marchese  Ossoli  and  relations 
with  his  wife,  257,  258;  his  'de 
scription  of  Margaret  Fuller's 
home  life  and  surroundings  at 
Florence,  259,  260. 

IRON  DUKE,  the,  179. 

Italy,  the  political  condition  of,  in 
1847,  207,  213,  216,  217,  223- 
230,  238-241  ;  popular  revolt  in, 
229,  230. 

KENYON,  JOHN,  178. 

LAMENNAIS,  Margaret  Fuller's 
mention  of,  196. 

Lever  rier,  Margaret  Fuller's  men 
tion  of,  197. 

Liszt,  189. 

Longfellow,  Henry  Wadsworlh, 
Margaret  Fuller's  criticism  on, 
164-167. 

Louis  Philippe,  190. 

Lowell,  James  Russell,  his  satire 
on  Margaret  Fuller  in  the  "Fable 
for  Critics,"  39,  40  ;  a  criticism 
on,  by  Margaret  Fuller,  167. 


MANZONI,  Margaret  Fuller's  esti 
mate  of,  211. 

Mariotti,  188. 

Martineau,  Harriet,  her  efforts  to 
introduce  Margaret  Fuller  to 
Mr.  Emerson,  40  ;  publication 
of  her  book  on  America,  69: 
Margaret  Fuller's  visit  to,  while 
in  Scotland,  172. 

Martineau,  James,  Margaret  Ful 
ler's  estimate  of,  178. 

Mazzini,  his  connection  with  works 
of  benevolence,  180;  Margaret 
Fuller's  high  estimation  of,  186— 
188,  243  ;  his  letter  to  Pope  Pius 
on  the  political  condition  of 
Italy,  225-228. 

Mickiewicz,  193. 

Milman,  Dean,  Margaret  Fuller's 
description  of,  172. 

Moore,  Thomas,  179. 

NEAL,  JOHN,  66. 
Norton,  Mrs.,  179. 

OSSOLI,  Marchese,  the  personal  de 
scription  of,  233  ;  his  first  meet 
ing  with  Margaret  Fuller,  233  ; 
his  marriage,  234  ;  reascns  for 
not  making  his  marriage  public, 
234,  235  ;  his  zeal  for  the  cause 
of  freedom,  234,  235,  246 ;  his 
personal  character  and  love  for 
his  wife  as  described  by  William 
Henry  Hurlbut,  257,  258 ;  his 
calmness  and  forgetfulness  of 
self  at  the  time  of  the  shipwreck, 
272  ;  his  death,  274. 

PARIS,  the  city  of,  and  its  celeb 
rities  at  the  time  of  Margaret 
Fuller's  visit,  189,  190. 

Parker,  Theodore,  72 ;  Margaret 
Fuller's  high  estimation  of,  177. 

Peabody,  Miss,  the  first  of  Mar 
garet  Fuller's  conversations  held 
at  the  rooms  of,  105,  106. 

Pius,  Pope,  207 ;  first  symptoms 
of  his  unpopularity  at  Rome, 
221  ;  his  desertion  of  the  cause 
of  freedom,  230  ;  his  flight  from 
Rome,  239. 


298 


INDEX. 


RACHEL,  the  queen  of  the  tragic 
stage  at  Paris,  189 ;  Margaret 
Fuller's  estimate  of  her  dramatic 
powers,  195,  196. 

Ripley,  George,  organizes  the 
Brook  Farm  Community,  91. 

Rogers,  Samuel,  178. 

Rome,  at  the  time  of  Margaret's 
visit  in  1847,  202,  203  ;  celebra 
tion  of  the  birthday  of,  208  ; 
celebration  of  the  creation  of  the 
National  Guard  at,  215  ;  review 
of  the  Civic  Guard  at,  218  ;  evi 
dence  of  political  reform  and 
celebration  of  the  event  at,  223, 
224  ;  the  political  situation  and 
popular  excitement  at,  224,  225; 
opening  of  the  Constitutional  As 
sembly  at,  240  ;  universal  enthu 
siasm  at  the  formation  of  a  Ro 
man  republic,  240 ;  its  relations 
with  Fiance,  242,  243  ;  the  siege 
of,  243-247 ;  its  surrender,  247, 
248. 

SAND,  GEORGE,  as  a  woman  and  a 
writer,  135-137  ;  her  literary  su 


premacy  in  Paris,  189  ;  Margaret 

Fuller's  visit  to,  and  portrait  of, 

191-193. 

Smith,  Sydney,  178. 
Sue,    Eugene,    Margaret    Fuller's 

estimate    of    his   writings,    288, 

289. 
Sumner.  Horace,  his  intimacy  with 

Margaret  Fuller  at  Venice,  260, 

261,  268  ;  his  death,  274. 
Sutherland,  Duchess  of,  179. 

TAGLIOM,  210. 
Thackeray,  William  M.,  178. 
Transcendentalism,  its  birth    and 
development,  90,  91,  95. 

VATTEMARE,  ALEXANDRE,  Mar 
garet  Fuller's  intercourse  with, 
198. 

WILKINSON,  JAMES  GARTH, 
Margaret  Fuller's  estimate  of, 
188. 

Wordsworth,  William,  Margaret 
Puller's  visit  to,  172. 


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MARGARET  FULLER  will  be  remembered  as  one  of  the  "Great  ConverserSj" 
the  "  Prophet  of  the  Woman  Movement  "  in  this  country,  and  her  Memoirs  will 
be  read  with  delight  as  among  the  tenderest  specimens  of  biographical  writing  in 
our  language.  She  was  never  an  extremist.  She  considered  woman  neither 
man's  rival  nor  his  foe,  but  his  complement.  As  she  herself  said,  she  believed 
that  the  development  of  one  could  not  be  affected  without  that  of  the  other. 
Her  words,  so  noble  in  tone,  so  moderate  in  spirit,  so  eloquent  in  utterance, 
should  not  be  forgotten  by  her  sisters.  Horace  Greeley,  in  his  introduction  to  her 
"  Woman  in  the  Nineteenth  Century,"  says :  "  She  was  one  of  the  earliest,  as 
well  as  ablest,  among  American  women  to  demand  for  her  sex  equality  before  the 
law  with  her  titluar  lord  and  master.  Her  writings  on  this  subject  have  the  force 
that  springs  from  the  ripening  of  profound  reflection  into  assured  conviction.  It 
is  due  to  her  memory,  as  well  as  to  the  great  and  living  cause  of  which  she  was  so 
eminent  and  so  fearless  an  advocate,  that  what  she  thought  and  said  with  regard 
to  the  position  of  her  sex  and  its  limitations  should  be  fully  and  fairly  placed 
before  the  public."  No  woman  who  wishes  to  understand  the  full  scope  of  what 
is  called  the  woman's  movement  should  fail  to  read  these  pages,  and  see  in  them 
how  one  woman  proved  her  right  to  a  position  in  literature  hitherto  occupied  by 
men,  by  filling  it  nobly. 

The  Story  of  this  rich,  sad,  striving,  unsatisfied  life,  with  its  depths  of  emotion 
and  its  surface  sparkling  and  glowing,  is  told  tenderly  and  reverently  by  her 
biographers.  Their  praise  is  eulogy,  and  their  words  often  seem  extravagant; 
but  they  knew  her  well,  they  spoke  as  they  felt.  The  character  that  could  awaken 
such  interest  and  love  surely  is  a  rare  one. 

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EMILY'l^RONTE. 

BY    A.    MARY    F.    ROBINSON. 
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"  Miss  Robinson  has  written  a  fascinating  biography.  .  .  .  Emily  Bronte  is 
interesting,  not  because  she  wrote  '  Wuthering  Heights,'  but  because  of  her 
brave,  baffled,  human  life,  so  lonely,  so  full  of  pain,  but  with  a  great  hope  shining 
beyond  all  the  darkness,  and  a  passionate  defiance  in  bearing  more  than  the 
burdens  that  were  laid  upon  her.  The  story  of  the  three  sisters  is  infinitely  sad, 
but  it  is  the  ennobling  sadness  that  belongs  to  large  natures  cramped  and  striving 
for  freedom  to  heroic,  almost  desperate,  work,  with  little  or  no  result.  The  author 
of  this  intensely  interesting,  sympathetic,  and  eloquent  biography,  is  a  young  lady 
and  a  poet,  to  whom  a  place  is  given  in  a  recent  anthology  of  living  English  poets, 
which  is  supposed  to  contain  only  the  best  poems  of  the  best  writers."  —  Boston 
Daily  A  dvertiser. 

"Miss  Robinson  had  many  excellent  qualifications  for  the  task  she  has  per 
formed  in  this  little  volume,  among  which  may  be  named,  an  enthusiastic  interest 
in  her  subject  and  a  real  sympathy  with  Emily  Bronte's  sad  and  heroic  life.  '  To 
represent  her  as  she  was,'  says  Miss  Robinson,  '  would  be  her  noblest  and  most 
fitting  monument.'  .  .  .  Emily  Bronte  here  becomes  well  known  to  us  and,  in  one 
sense,  this  should  be  praise  enough  for  any  biography."  —  New  York  Times. 

"The  biographer  who  finds  such  material  before  him  as  the  lives  and  characters 
of  the  Bronte  family  need  have  no  anxiety  as  to  the  interest  of  his  work.  Char 
acters  not  only  strong  but  so  uniquely  strong,  genius  so  supreme,  misfortunes  so 
overwhelming,  set  in  its  scenery  so  forlornly  picturesque,  could  not  fail  to  attract 
all  readers,  if  told  even  in  the  most  prosaic  language.  When  we  add  to  this,  that 
Miss  Robinson  has  told  their  story  not  in  prosaic  language,  but  with  a  literary 
style  exhibiting  all  the  qualities  essential  to  good  biography,  our  readers  will 
understand  that  this  life  of  Emily  Bronte  is  not  only  as  interesting  as  a  novel,  but 
a  great  deal  more  interesting  than  most  novels.  As  it  presents  most  vividly  a 
general  picture  of  the  family,  there  seems  hardly  a  reason  for  giving  it  Emily's  name 
alone,  except  perhaps  for  the  masterly  chapters  on  '  Wuthering  Heights,'  which 
the  reader  will  find  a  grateful  condensation  of  the  best  in  that  powerful  but  some 
what  forbidding  story.  We  know  of  no  point  in  the  Bronte  history  —  their  genius, 
their  surroundings,  their  faults,  their  happiness,  their  misery,  their  love  and  friend 
ships,  their  peculiarities,  their  power,  their  gentleness,  their  patience,  their  pride, 
—  which  Miss  Robinson  has  not  touched  upon  with  conscientiousness  and  sym 
pathy."—  The  Critic. 

" '  Emily  Bronte  '  is  the  second  of  the  '  Famous  Women  Series,'  which  Roberts 
Brothers,  Boston,  propose  to  publish,  and  of  which  '  George  Eliot '  was  the  initial 
volume.  Not  the  least  remarkable  of  a  very  remarkable  family,  the  personage 
whose  life  is  here  written,  possesses  a  peculiar  interest  to  all  who  are  at  all  familiar 
with  the  sad  and  singular  history  of  herself  and  her  sister  Charlotte.  That  the 
author,  Miss  A.  Mary  F.  Robinson,  has  done  her  work  with  minute  fidelity  to 
facts  as  well  as  affectionate  devotion  to  the  subject  of  her  sketch,  is  plainly  to  be 
seen  all  through  the  book."  —  Washington  Post. 


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GEORGE     SAND. 

BY    BERTHA    THOMAS. 
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"  Miss  Thomas  has  accomplished  a  difficult  task  with  as  much  good  sense  as 
good  feeling.  She  presents  the  main  facts  of  George  Sand's  life,  extenuating 
nothing,  and  setting  naught  down  in  malice,  but  wisely  leaving  her  readers  to 
form  their  own  conclusions.  Everybody  knows  that  it  was  not  such  a  life  as  the 
women  of  England  and  America  are  accustomed  to  live,  and  as  the  worst  of  men 
are  glad  to  have  them  live.  .  .  .  Whatever  may  be  said  against  it,  its  result  on 
George  Sand  was  not  what  it  would  have  been  upon  an  English  or  American 
woman  of  genius."  —  New  York  Mail  and  Express. 

"  This  is  a  volume  of  the  '  Famous  Women  Series,'  which  was  begun  so  well 
with  George  Eliot  and  Emily  Bronte.  The  book  is  a  review  and  critical  analysis 
of  George  Sand's  life  and  work,  by  no  means  a  detailed  biography.  Amantine 
Lucile  Aurore  Dupin,  the  maiden,  or  Mme.  Dudevant,  the  married  woman,  is 
forgotten  in  the  renown  of  the  pseudonym  George  Sand. 

"  Altogether,  George  Sand,  with  all  her  excesses  and  defects,  is  a  representative 
woman,  one  of  the  names  of  the  nineteenth  century.  She  was  great  among  the 
greatest,  the  friend  and  compeer  of  the  finest  intellects,  and  Miss  Thomas's  essay 
will  be  a  useful  and  agreeable  introduction  to  a  more  extended  study  of  her  life 
and  works."  —  Knickerbocker, 

"  The  biography  of  this  famous  woman,  by  Miss  Thomas,  is  the  only  one  in 
existence.  Those  who  have  awaited  it  with  pleasurable  anticipation,  but  with 
some  trepidation  as  to  the  treatment  of  the  erratic  side  of  her  character,  cannot 
fail  to  be  pleased  with  the  skill  by  which  it  is  done.  It  is  the  best  production  on 
George  Sand  that  has  yet  been  published.  The  author  modestly  refers  to  it  as  a 
sketch,  which  it  undoubtedly  is,  but  a  sketch  that  gives  a  just  and  discriminating 
analysis  of  George  Sand's  life,  tastes,  occupations,  and  of  the  motives  and  impulses 
which  prompted  her  unconventional  actions,  that  were  misunderstood  by  a  narrow 
public.  The  difficulties  encountered  by  the  writer  in  describing  this  remarkable 
character  are  shown  in  the  first  line  of  the  opening  chapter,  which  says,  'In  nam 
ing  George  Sand  we  name  something  more  exceptional  than  even  a  great  genius.' 
That  tells  the  whole  story.  Misconstruction,  condemnation,  and  isolation  are  the 
penalties  enforced  upon  the  great  leaders  in  the  realm  of  advanced  thought,  by 
the  bigoted  people  of  their  time.  The  thinkers  soar  beyond  the  common  herd, 
whose  soul-wings  are  not  strong  enough  to  fly  aloft  to  clearer  atmospheres,  and 
consequently  they  censure  or  ridicule  what  they  are  powerless  to  reach.  George 
Sand,  even  to  a  greater  extent  than  her  contemporary,  George  Eliot,  was  a  victim 
to  ignorant  social  prejudices,  but  even  the  conservative  world  was  forced  to  recog 
nize  the  matchless  genius  of  these  two  extraordinary  women,  each  widely  different 
in  her  character  and  method  of  thought  and  writing.  .  .  .  She  has  told  much  that 
is  good  which  has  been  untold,  and  just  what  will  interest  the  reader,  and  no  more, 
\n  the  same  easy,  entertaining  style  that  characterizes  all  of  these  unpretentious 
'jiographies. "  — Hartford  Times. 

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Messrs.  Roberts  Brothers'   Publications. 
FAMOUS  WOMEN  SERIES. 

M  ARY~LAM  B. 

BY    ANNE    GILCHRIST. 
One  volume.  16mo.    Cloth.    Price,  $1.00. 


"  The  story  of  Mary  Lamb  has  long  been  familiar  to  the  readers  of  Elia,  but 
never  in  its  entirety  as  in  the  monograph  which  Mrs.  Anne  Gilchrist  has  just 
contributed  to  the  Famous  Women  Series.  Darkly  hinted  at  by  Talfourd  in  his 
Final  Memorials  of  Charles  Lamb,  it  became  better  known  as  the  years  went  on 
and  that  imperfect  work  was  followed  by  fuller  and  franker  biographies,  —  became 
so  well  known,  in  fact,  that  no  one  could  recall  the  memory  of  Lamb  without 
recalling  at  the  same  time  the  memory  of  his  sister."  —  New  York  Mail  andEx- 
fress. 

"  A  biography  of  Mary  Lamb  must  inevitably  be  also,  almost  more,  a  biogra 
phy  of  Charles  Lamb,  so  completely  was  the  life  of  the  sister  encompassed  by 
that  of  her  brother ;  and  it  must  be  allowed  that  Mrs.  Anne  Gilchrist  has  per 
formed  a  difficult  biographical  task  with  taste  and  ability.  .  .  .  The  reader  is  at 
least  likely  to  lay  down  the  book  with  the  feeling  that  if  Mary  Lamb  is  not  famous 
she  certainly  deserves  to  be,  and  that  a  debt  of  gratitude  is  due  Mrs.  Gilchrist  for 
this  well-considered  record  of  her  life."  — Boston  Courier. 

"  Mary  Lamb,  who  was  the  embodiment  of  everything  that  is  tenderest  in 
woman,  combined  with  this  a  heroism  which  bore  her  on  for  a  while  through  the 
terrors  of  insanity.  Think  of  a  highly  intellectual  woman  struggling  year  after 
year  with  madness,  triumphant  over  it  for  a  season,  and  then  at  last  succumbing  to 
it.  The  saddest  lines  that  ever  were  written  are  those  descriptive  of  this  brother  and 
sister  just  before  Mary,  on  some  return  of  insanity,  was  to  leave  Charles  Lamb. 
'  On  one  occasion  Mr.  Charles  Lloyd  met  them  slowly  pacing  together  a  little 
foot-path  in  Hoxton  Fields,  both  weeping  bitterly,  and  found,  on  joining  them, 
that  they  were  taking  their  solemn  way  to  the  accustomed  asylum.'  What  pathos 
is  there  not  here  ? "  —  New  York  Times. 

"This  'life  was  worth  writing,  for  all  records  of  weakness  conquered,  of  pain 
patiently  borne,  of  success  won  from  difficulty,  of  cheerfulness  in  sorrow  and 
affliction,  make  the  world  better.  Mrs.  Gilchrist's  biography  is  unaffected  and 
simple.  She  has  told  the  sweet  and  melancholy  story  with  judicious  sympathy, 
showing  always  the  light  shining  through  darkness."  —  Philadelphia  Press. 


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Ago,  on  Commencement  Day  in  1821,  the  year  of  the  author's  graduation,  and  on 
visits  to  and  talks  with  John  Adams,  with  reminiscences  of  Lafayette,  Judge  Story, 
John  Randolph,  Jackson  and  other  eminent  persons,  and  sketches  of  old  Washington 
and  old  Boston  society.  The  kindly  pen  of  the  author  is  never  dipped  in  gall  —  he 
remembers  the  pleasing  aspects  of -character,  and  his  stories  and  anecdotes  are  told  in 
the  best  of  humor  and  leave  no  sting.  The  book  is  of  a  kind  which  we  are  not  likely 
to  have  again,  for  the  men  of  Mr.  Quincy's  generation,  those  at  least  who  had  his 
social  opportunities,  are  nearly  all  gone.  These  pictures  of  old  social  and  political 
conditions  are  especially  suggestive  as  reminding  us  that  a  single  life,  oniy  lately 
closed,  linked  us  with  days,  events  and  men  that  were  a  part  of  our  early  history  and 
appear  remote  because  of  the  multitude  of  changes  that  have  transformed  society  in 
the  interval."  —  Boston  Journal. 

WHIST,    OR    BUMBLEPUPPY?        By    Pembridge. 

From  the  Second  London  Edition.      i6mo.      Cloth.       Price,  .50 

DEFINITION  OF  BUMBLEPUPPY — Bumblepuppy  is  persisting  to  play  whist,  eithei 
in  utter  ignorance  of  all  its  known  principles,  or  in  defiance  of  them,  or  both. 

"'Whist,  or  Bumblepuppy?'  is  one  of  the  most  entertaining,  and  at.  the  same 
time  one  of  the  soundest  books  on  whist  ever  written.  Its  drollery  may  blind  some 
readers  to  the  value  of  its  advice;  no  man  who  knows  anything  about  whist,  how 
ever,  will  fail  to  read  it  with  interest,  and  few  will  fail  to  read  it  with  advantage. 
Upon  the  ordinary  rules  of  whist,  Pembridge  supplies  much  sensible  and  thor 
oughly  amusing  comment.  The  best  player  in  the  world  may  gain  from  his  ob-> 
servations,  and  a  mediocre  player  can  scarcely  find  a  better  counsellor.  There  is 
scarcely  an  opinion  expressed  with  which  we  do  not  coincide." — London  Sundaf 
Times, 


RECOLLECTIONS  OF  DANTE  GABRIEL  ROS- 
SETTI.  By  T.  Hall  Caine.  With  Portrait.  One  vol. 
8vo.  Cloth,  gilt.  Price, $3.00 

"Mr.Caine's  'Recollections  of  Rossetti'  throws  light  upon  many  events  in  Ros-- 

setti's  life  over  which  there  hung  a  veil  of  mystery A  book  that  must 

survive." — London  A  thenceum. 


#**  Our  publications  are  for  sale  by  all  booksellers,  or  will  be  sent 
post-paid  on  receipt  of  advertised  price. 

ROBERTS  BROTHERS,  Boston. 


MESSES,  KOBEKTS  BKOTHEKS'  PUBLICATIONS, 


JFamous 
GEORGE    ELIOT. 

BY  MATHILDE   BLIND. 

One  vol.     i6mo.     Cloth.     Price,  $1.00. 


"  Messrs.  Roberts  Brothers  begin  a  series  of  Biographies  of  Famous 
Women  with  a  life  of  George  Eliot,  by  Mathilde  Blind.  The  idea  of  the 
series  is  an  excellent  one,  and  the  reputation  of  its  publishers  is  a  guarantee 
for  its  adequate  execution.  This  book  contains  about  three  hundred  pages  in 
open  type,  and  not  only  collects  and  condenses  the  main  facts  that  are  known 
in  regard  to  the  history  of  George  Eliot,  but  supplies  other  material  from 
personal  research.  It  is  agreeably  written,  and  with  a  good  idea  of  propor 
tion  in  a  memoir  of  its  size.  The  critical  study  of  its  subject's  works,  which 
is  made  in  the  order  of  their  appearance,  is  particularly  well  done.  In  fact, 
good  taste  and  good  judgment  pervade  the  memoir  throughout."  —  Saturday 
Evening  Gazette. 

"  Miss  Blind's  little  book  is  written  with  admirable  good  taste  and  judg 
ment,  and  with  notable  self-restraint.  It  does  not  weary  the  reader  with 
critical  discursiveness,  nor  with  attempts  to  search  out  high-flown  meanings 
and  recondite  oracles  in  the  plain  'yea'  and  '  nay  '  of  life.  It  is  a  graceful 
and  unpretentious  little  biography,  and  tells  all  that  need  be  told  concerning 
one  of  the  greatest  writers  of  the  time.  It  is  a  deeply  interesting  if  not 
fascinating  woman  whom  Miss  Blind  presents,"  says  the  New  York 
Tribune. 

"  Miss  Blind's  little  biographical  study  of  George  Eliot  is  written  with 
sympathy  and  good  taste,  and  is  very  welcome.  It  gives  us  a  graphic  if  not 
elaborate  sketch  of  the  personality  and  development  of  the  great  novelist,  is 
particularly  full  and  authentic  concerning  her  earlier  years,  tells  enough  of 
the  leading  motives  in  her  work  to  give  the  general  reader  a  lucid  idea  of  the 
trae  drift  and  purpose  of  her  art,  and  analyzes  carefully  her  various  writings, 
with  no  attempt  at  profound  criticism  or  fine  writing,  but  with  appreciation, 
insight,  and  a  clear  grasp  of  those  underlying  psychological  principles  which 
are  so  closely  interwoven  in  every  production  that  came  from  her  pen." - 
Traveller. 

"  The  lives  of  few  great  writers  have  attracted  more  curiosity  and  specula 
tion  than  that  of  George  Eliot.  Had  she  only  lived  earlier  in  the  century 
she  might  easily  have  become  the  centre  of  a  mythos.  As  it  is,  many  of  the 
anecdotes  commonly  repeated  about  her  are  made  up  largely  of  fable.  It  is, 
therefore,  well,  before  it  is  too  late,  to  reduce  the  true  story  of  her  career  to 
the  lowest  terms,  and  this  service  has  been  well  done  by  the  author  of  the 
present  volume."  — Philadelphia  Press. 

Sold  by  all  booksellers,  or  mailed,  post-paid,  on  receipt  of 
price,  by  the  publishers, 

ROBERTS   BROTHERS,  BOSTON. 


THE  WISDOM  OF  THE  BRAHMIN.  A  Didactic 
Poem.  Translated  from  the  German  of  Friedrich  Riick- 
ert.  By  Chas.  T.  Brooks.  Six  cantos.  i6mo.  Cloth, 
Price, $1.25 

"The  Brahmin,"  says  the  translator,  "is  a  poem  of  vast  range,  expressing  the 
world-wisdom  which  the  author  had  been  for  years  storing  up  in  his  large  heart,  and 
evolving  out  of  his  creative  soul."  Says  Dr.  Beyer,  in  his  Life  of  Riickert:  "  'The 
Wisdom  of  the  Brahmin  '  is  a  poetic  house-treasure  of  which  our  nation  may  justly 
be  proud.  So  much  has  been  said  and  sung  of  late  years  of  '  The  Light  of  Asia,'  the 
'Sympathy  of  Religions,'  and  the  like,  that  the  present  seemed  to  be  an  auspicious 
moment  to  venture  a  volume  of  Riickert's  greatest  work." 

"  'These  twenty  books  are  a  sea  of  thoughts  and  contemplations  full  of  Brahminic 
tranquility  and  German  depth  and  fullness,  in  simple  gnomes,  sentences,  epigrams, 
parables,  fables  and  tales.'  Gottsschall  declares  the  work  to  be  'a  poetic  treasure  of 
which  the  German  nation  may  justly  be  proud.'  The  translator,  speaking  of  his  own 
experiences,  says  the  poem  has  affected  him  as  '  a  sparkling  flood  of  heart-searching 
and  soul-lifting  thought  and  sentiment,  such  as  no  other  work  within  our  knowledge 
has  ever  presented.'  "  —  Home  Journal. 


SOCRATES.  The  Apology  and  Crito  of  Plato,  and  the 
Phaedo  of  Plato.  Uniform  with  "Marcus  Aurelius," 
"  Imitation  of  Christ, "  etc.  i8mo.  Flexible  cloth,  red 
edges.  Price,  50  cents  each.  Two  series  in  one  volume. 
Cloth,  red  edges.  Price,  75  cents. 

"If,  as  is  strongly  asserted,  there  maybe  found  in  the  writings  of  Plato  all  the 
wisdom  and  learning  of  the  ancients,  as  well  as  the  treasure-house  from  which  all 
succeeding  writers  have  borrowed  their  best  ideas,  then  are  these  little  books  worth 
their  weight  in  gold,  for  they  contain  some  of  the  choicest  gems  to  be  found  in  the 
collected  works  of  the  famous  Greek  philosopher.  They  are  companion  volumes, 
the  text  being  taken  unabridged  from  Professor  Jewett's  revised  translation  of  Plato. 
They  tell  the  whole  story  of  the  trial,  imprisonment  and  death  of  Socrates.  The 
Apology  gives  the  defence,  the  Crito  relates  the  offer  of  escape,  the  Phaedo  describes 
the  last  hours.  The  more  studiously  and  the  more  frequently  these  books  are  read 
the  more  keen  will  be  the  appreciation  of  their  intellectual  and  moral.excellence." — 
Providence  Journal. 


JEAN    INGELOW'S    NOVELS.       Off  the   Skelligs; 
Fated  to  be  Free;    Sarah  de  Berenger;    Don  John. 
A  new  edition.     4  vols.     i6mo.     Imitation  half  calf. 
Price,        $5.00 


post-paid  on  receipt  of  advertised  price. 

ROBERTS    BROTHERS,  Boston. 


A    LITTLE    PILGRIM.      Reprinted    from     Macmillan's 

Magazine.     i6mo.     Cloth.     Red  edges.     Price,  ....    $  .75 

"  An  exquisitely  written  little  sketch  is  found  in  that  remarkable  production,  '  The 
Little  Pilgrim,'  which  is  just  now  attracting  much  attention  both  in  Europe  and 
America.  It  is  highly  imaginative  in  its  scope,  representing  one  of  _the  world-worn 
and  weary  pilgrims  of  our  earthly  sphere  as  entering  upon  the  delights  of  heaven 
after  death.  The  picture  of  heaven  is  drawn  with  the  rarest  delicacy  and  refinement, 
and  is  in  agreeable  contrast  in  this  respect  to  the  material  sketch  of  this  future  home 
furnished  in  Miss  Stuart  Phelps's  well-remembered  'Gates  Ajar.'  The  book  will  be 
abalm  to  the  heart  of  many  readers  who  are  in  accord  with  the  fajih  of  its  author; 
and  to  others  its  reading  will  afford  rare  pleasure  from  the  exceeding  beauty  and 
affecting  simplicity  of  its  almost  perfect  literary  style." — Saturday  Evening  Gazette. 

"  The  life  beyond  the  grave,  when  the  short  life  in  this  world  is  ended,  is  to  many 
a  source  of  dread  —  to  all  a  mystery.  'A  Little  Pilgrim'  has  apparently  solved  it, 
and,  indeed,  it  seems  on  reading  this  little  book  as  if  there  were  a  great  probability 
about  it.  A  soft,  gentle  tone  pervades  its  every  sentence,  and  one  cannot  read  it 
without  feeling  refreshed  and  strengthened."  —  The  Alia  California. 

THE  GREAT  EPICS  OF  MEDIEVAL  GERMANY. 
An  Outline  of  their  Contents  and  History.  By  George 
Theodore  Dippcld,  Professor  at  Boston  University  and 
Wellesley  College.  i6mo.  Cloth.  Price, $1.50 

Professor  Francis  J.  Child,  of  Harvard  College,  says  :  "  It  is  an  excellent  account 
of  the  chief  German  heroic  poems  of  the  Middle  Ages,  accompanied  with  spirited 
translations.  It  is  a  book  which  gives  both  a  brief  and  popular,  and  also  an  accurate, 
account  of  this  important  section  of  literature,  and  will  be  very  welcome  here  and  at 
other  colleges." 

"No  student  of  modern  literature,  and  above  all  no  student  who  aims  to  under 
stand  the  literary  development  of  Europe  in  its  fullest  range,  can  leave  this  rich  and 
ample  world  of  early  song  unexplored.  To  all  such  Professor  Dippold's  book  will 
have  the  value  of  a  trustworthy  guide.  .  .  .  It  has  all  the  interest  of  a 
chapter  in  the  growth  of  the  human  mind  into  comprehension  of  the  universe  and  of 
itself,  and  it  has  the  pervading  charm  of  the  vast  realm  of  poetry  through  which  it 
moves."  —  Christian  Union. 


MY  HOUSEHOLD  OF  PETS.      By  Theophile  Gautier. 
Translated  from  the  French  by  Susan  Coolidge.     With 
illustrations  by  Frank  Rogers.     i6mo.     Cloth.     Price,      .     $1.25 

"  This  little  book  will  interest  lovers  of  animals,  and  the  quaint  style  in  which 
M.  Gautier  tells  of  the  wisdom  of  his  household  pets  will  please  every  one.  The 
translator,  too,  is  happy  in  her  work,  for  she  has  succeeded  in  rendering  the  text  into 
English  without  loss  of  the  French  tone,  which  makes  it  fascinating.  These  house 
hold  pets  consisted  of  white  and  black  cats,  dogs,  chameleons,  lizards,  magpies,  and 
horses,  each  of  which  has  a  character  and  story  of  its  own.  Illustrations  and  a  pretty 
binding  add  to  the  attractions  of  the  volume.5'  —  Worcester  Spy. 

"The  ease  and  elegance  of  Theophile  Gautier's  diction  is  wonderful,  and  the 
translator  has  preserved  the  charm  of  the  French  author  with  far  more  than  the 
average  fidelity.  '  My  Household  of  Pets '  is  a  book  which  can  be  read  with  pleasure 
by  young  and  old.  It  is  a  charming  volume.  —  St.  Louis  Spectator. 

%* %  Our  publications  are  for  sale  by  all  booksellers,  or  will  be  sent 
post-paid  on  receipt  of  advertised  price. 

ROBERTS    BROTHERS,  Boston. 


PHYLLIS  BROWNE.  A  Story.  By  Flora  L.  Shaw. 
Author  of  "Castle  Blair"  and  "Hector."  i6mo.  Cloth. 
Illustrated.  Price, $1.00 

"'Castle  Blair 'and  'Hector'  are  such  good  stones  that  a  third,  by  the  same 
author,  Flora  L.  Shaw,  will  be  equally  welcomed.  '  Hector'  was  one  of  the  most 
charming  books  ever  written  about  a  boy.  'Phyllis  Browne'  is  the  new  story.  She 
is  evidently  the  author's  ideal  girl,  as  Hector  was  her  ideal  boy,  and  a  noble,  splendid 
girl  she  is.  Yet  the  book  is  not  a  child's  book;  it  is  about  children,  but  not  for  them. 
The  story  is  far  more  interesting  than  most  novels  are,  and  far  more  exciting.  The 
rash  generosity  of  the  children  is  beautiful;  their  free,  trustful  lives  are  noble  and 
sweet;  but  when  they  undertake  to  right  social  wrongs,  and  gallantly  set  their  brave 
hearts  and  childish  inexperience  against  the  established  wrongs  of  society,  they  come 
to  grief,  but  in  no  commonplace  way.  Their  dangers  are  as  unusual  and  on  as  large 
a  scale  as  their  characters  and  courage  are.  The  book  is  full  of  tender  and  loving 
things ;  it  makes  the  heart  larger,  and  brings  back  the  splendid  dreams  of  one's  own 
youth,"  says  the  Boston  correspondent  of  the  Worcester  Spy. 


THE  MARQUIS  OF  CARABAS.  A  Romance.  By 
Harriet  Prescott  Spofford,  author  of  "The  Amber 
Gods,"  "The  Thief  in  the  Night,"  etc.  i6mo.  Cloth.  Price,  $1.00 

"This  is  the  latest  offering  of  the  author  of  'The  Amber  Gods,'  and  it  is  as  odd  as 
striking,  and  as  impressive  in  its  shadowy  implication  as  anything  she  has  ever 
written.  Handled  differently,  the  incidents  would  seem  theatrical;  as  told  by  Mrs. 
Spofford,  the  story  is  like  the  vivid  passages  of  a  drama  from  which,  once  seen,  you 
cannot  escape.  Pleasant  or  unpleasant  they  force  themselves  upon  the  consideration 
and  lay  hold  of  the  imagination.  So  it  is  with  '  The  Marquis  of  Carabas.'  " — Chicago 
Inter-Ocean. 

" 'The  Marquis  of  Carabas,' by  Harriet  Prescott  Spofford,  is  a  work  of  unique 
quality,  being  really  a  poem  in  the  guise  of  a  prose  novel.  The  thought  is  tense  and 
sublimated,  and  the  style  glowing,  musical  and  polished.  There  is  abundant  inven 
tion  in  the  story,  and  nothing  of  common-place  and  indolent  imitation  which  in  the 
case  of  ordinary  raconteurs  contributes  so  largely  to  swell  the  bulk  of  results.  The 
narrative  fascinates  one,  but  the  fascination  is  not  of  a  stream  flowing  largely  and 
naturally  through  the  landscape ;  it  is  rather  that  of  silver  bells,  whose  clear,  finely 
modulated  chimes  touch  the  finer  issues  of  feeling,  but  not  without  some  obtrusive 
sense  of  study  and  premeditation."  — Home  Journal. 


LANDOR'S   IMAGINARY  CONVERSATIONS. 

With   a  portrait.      A  new  edition,      5  volumes.      i6mo. 

Cloth.     Oxford  style.     Price, $5.00 

Imitation  half  calf, 6.25 


***  Our  publications  are  for  sale  by  all  booksellers,  or  will  be  sent 
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ROBERTS  BROTHERS,  Boston. 


MESSRS.    ROBERTS    BROTHERS' 

Classic    Aeries. 


A  collection  of  world-renowned  works  selected  from  the 
/iteratures  of  all  nations,  printed  from  new  type  in  the  best 
manner,  and  neatly  and  durably  bound.  Handy  books,  con 
venient  to  hold,  and  an  ornament  to  the  library  shelves. 

READY  AND  IN  PREPARATION, 
SIR  WALTER  SCOTT'S  "LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL," 
"MARMION,"  and  "THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE."    The 
three  poems  in   one  volume. 

"  There  are  no  books  for  boys  like  these  poems  by  Sir  Walter 
Scott.  Every  boy  likes  them,  if  they  are  not  put  into  his  hands 
too  late.  They  surpass  everything  for  boy  reading" — Ralph 
Waldo  Emerson. 

OLIVER    GOLDSMITH'S   "  THE    VICAR    OF    WAKEFIELD." 
With   Illustrations   by  Mulready. 

DEFOE'S    "ROBINSON    CRUSOE."     With  Illustrations  by 
Stothard. 

BERNARDIN  DE  SAINT-PIERRE'S  "PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA." 
With    Illustrations  by  Lalauze. 

SOUTHEY'S  "  LIFE  OF  NELSON."     With   Illustrations  by 
Birket    Foster. 

VOLTAIRE'S  "LIFE  OF  CHARLES  THE  TWELFTH."    With 
Maps   and   Portraits. 

MARIA    EDGEWORTH'S  "  CLASSIC    TALES."    With  a  bio 
graphical  Sketch   by  Grace   A.    Oliver. 

LORD  MACAULAY'S  "LAYS  OF  ANCIENT  ROME."    With 
a   Biographical  Sketch   and   Illustrations. 

BUNYAN'S  "  PILGRIM'S  PROGRESS."   With  all  of  the  origi 
nal   Illustrations   in   fac-simile. 

CLASSIC    HEROIC    BALLADS.      Edited  by   the   Editor  of 
"Quiet    Hours." 

CLASSIC   TALES.      By   Anna   Letitia   Barbauld.     With    a 
Biographical  Sketch  by  Grace  A.  Oliver. 

CLASSIC  TALES.      By   Ann   and    Jane    Taylor.     With    a 
Biographical  Sketch  by  Grace  A.  Oliver. 

AND    OTHERS. 


'At 


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